


Mortal Wounds

by profanedaisychain



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Explicit Language, F!Step: anarchist - no kill - HB scar: friendless - Sui/intrusive thoughts, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, M!Step: hero hunter - no kill - HB scar: puppetmaster, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, POV Third Person, Pining, Tags will be added as new chapters show up, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Violence, all chapters have stand-alone ratings!, argent/Ricardo/f!step oc poly relationship, don't expect much in the way of solid plot this is emotional self indulgence at its finest, herald/f!step smut, let's be real this is just a bunch of drabbles with an oc I have grown way too fond of, spoilers for FH Retribution open alpha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profanedaisychain/pseuds/profanedaisychain
Summary: OC Ficlet Collection. All chapters have individual ratings, and all chapters are stand-alone unless otherwise specified. Third-person POV.
Relationships: Dr. Mortum & the Puppet, Dr. Mortum/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Herald/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Julia Ortega & Sidestep, Lady Argent/Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Lady Argent/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Ortega & Steel (Fallen Hero), Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Sidestep/Steel (Fallen Hero), pairings will be added as new one-shots are uploaded
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. Love-Struck | Ricardo/f!Sidestep (G)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [ Kayla Hemmings' Profile](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1gyERpr1nYbdbUQO685GlDeHWoByAa-zHbDpWUxH0jek/edit?usp=drivesdk)
> 
> * * *

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayla finally allows Ortega to see a new facet of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo Ortega/Kayla. Unresolved romantic tension. Mild pining.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Kayla is just as jumpy inside of her apartment as she is outside of it, but Ricardo figures that has more to do with him being here.

It's the first time, after all. Kayla isn't very good with new experiences.

"Beer or coffee?" She asks it in an oddly flat tone, the question less of a question and more of a guarded mumble. Like this is Hoots and she's feeling especially exposed for reasons he never understands.

"I'll take a beer." He follows her through the small flat; the entryway funnels them into a living area, the kitchen a tiny offset to the right. She goes in that direction, skirting the breakfast bar. There's only one stool there, Ricardo notes, and it looks like it’s seen better decades.

The rest of the furniture, sparse as it is, is a mishmash of colours. Eclectic and chaotic, well-used but tidy. Military-precise placements. Even the throw blanket on the back of the couch has the crisp folds of someone who doesn’t want their commanding officer reaming them. He wouldn't have expected it, though he had no idea what to expect in the first place.

“Don't snoop,” Kayla calls, voice a little sharp.

Ricardo grins, turning toward her. “Snoop? There's next to nothing here.”

“We don’t all have Rangers money." She sips from her bottle -a cheap beer that Ricardo would normally turn up his nose at- and puts a second on the bar.

“You could, though,” Ricardo points out.

“I’m freelance.”

“You never let me forget,” he drawls, taking the beer and sipping. God, this shit is terrible. It takes him back, and it takes him back to memories he doesn’t want. Doesn’t need. "Bill us as a consultant.”

Kayla rolls her eyes, mutters “you’re such an idiot,” and doesn’t meet his gaze. It’s a familiar game between them - he brings something up, she argues, he rebuts, and then she slams the door on the conversation.

Ricardo doesn’t want to fight her - not right now, not now that she’s invited him into her home. This is uncharted territory for them. For her. He can feel the tension in her body, even with the bar between them. Her hands don’t shake, but they clench the bottle hard enough that her knuckles have gone white. He’s surprised she hasn’t reached for a cigarette yet.

“So.”

Kayla raises a brow at him when the word echoes around them. “Say what you want to say.”

“I didn’t want to say anything,” he defends with a little laugh.

She rolls her eyes again, putting her empty bottle -shit, she drinks fast- onto the counter, very deliberately meeting his gaze. “I'm already on edge, and your smirk is weirding me out.”

“I’m not smirking, I’m just happy to be here.” He takes a little step around the bar, planning on joining her in the kitchen. Just to look around, of course, nothing sordid. Surely not to brush her hand with his as he passes her. Not to give her a soft, lingering look that’s already teased a couple of kisses from her.

No, of course not. Ricardo’s just curious about the plants she keeps around the kitchen window.

Plants. To be fair, he _is_ quite curious about that.

“Pick out a movie,” Kayla interrupts. She has a way of doing that - interrupting. And then she’s turning away from him, moving around the kitchen. Ricardo doesn’t move, though. He watches her collect a spray bottle, misting the hanging fern whose fronds are almost long enough to brush the countertop.

“I didn’t expect you to like plants,” he notes, watching how she tenses under the scrutiny.

She moves onto a potted plant that is a mess of long, curling leaves. “I smoke,” she mutters, grabbing for the small watering can in the corner. “They help with air purification.”

“Cactuses, too?”

“Cacti." Obstinate. She bypasses the little desert terrarium, moving on to a plant with large, strangely-shaped stalks.

“And the watering can being in the shape of an elephant helps with the air, too?”

“I will throw you out,” Kayla threatens, but it has no heat. Her cheeks are rosy, but she turns away from him too quickly for Ricardo to see if they darken further. They probably do - she’s incredibly easy to fluster even though she is continuously wrapping more caustic layers between herself and the outside world.

“C’mon, Kayla,” Ricardo laughs, leaning against the bar. Kayla, in turn, ignores him. “Fine, we don’t need to talk. We were going to watch a movie, right?”

Kayla accepts the verbal peace offering with her usual silence before nodding. “You’re the guest. You pick.”

“You make me pick at my place, too,” he weakly argues, already moving into the living room. He knows better than to challenge her too hard. She has very clear lines, and he’s careful to tread those lines as closely as he can. As near as possible without ruining everything.

The living room doesn’t show signs of movies, though - the entertainment centre is empty, and the television is an old one. The lack of modern tech is a bit surprising, honestly, given that Kayla is a pro with the stuff. But quality pieces are pricy, and Kayla doesn’t seem like the type to spend money...or have it, for that matter.

“Where are the movies?” Ricardo calls, glancing over his shoulder when he hears her padding out of the kitchen. She’s in the middle of yanking her hoodie over her head, expression turning indignant when she finds him smirking at her struggle.

“Move over,” Kayla grumbles, and Ricardo raises a brow at her. He moves all the same, retreating to the couch while she pulls a laptop from the entertainment centre. She brings it to the couch with her, collapsing beside Ricardo and flicking the screen to life at the same time. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, entering a complex string of passwords.

And then it opens up to a black screen with unreadable folders scattered about.

“How did you expect me to pick a movie from this mess?” Ricardo asks, more amused than anything else, watching her navigate the gibberish labels.

“I didn’t,” she admits, lips quirking a bit. “I just didn’t want you ambushing me in the kitchen.”

“Ambush? Me?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, pleased with herself. Relaxing a bit. Softening. "Genre?”

“You know the answer to that. I haven't seen you squirm yet."

She purses her lips. “Once again, hopefully for the last time, horror movies don't affect me.”

“They haven't _yet_."

"They never will."

"See, that sounds like a challenge. And you know how I feel about challenges." He gives her _that_ smile - she has the common sense not to look. "I promise you this. I will find a movie so horrifying that even you react, and I will be there to witness it."

Kayla is trying not to laugh. She's breaking down in the best way, little cracks in her armour. "This is the ultimate excerise in futility."

Ricardo can’t help the laugh. He’s glad he couldn’t, too, because it makes Kayla smile. Not the wry one, but the real one. The one that shows her teeth and wrinkles the skin at the corners of her eyes. The one that reminds him that she’s young and capable of happiness.

Ricardo doesn’t want to ruin this moment, so he doesn’t tease her, he doesn’t lean in to steal a kiss - he gets to his feet, taking his beer with him. “Want a second?” he asks, already moving toward the fridge while downing the rest of his first.

“Please,” she says, and she sounds relieved. Relieved that he didn’t try anything? Relieved that he's just here being friendly. Being a good friend. Just a friend.

Ricardo clears his throat and collects the beer, pops the caps, and returns to the couch. Kayla has hooked the computer to the television which is now sporting the paused opening sequence to whatever movie she chose.

Ricardo sits beside her -maybe a little too close, perhaps a little too familiar- but Kayla doesn’t move. She takes a bottle from him, their fingers brushing. Not on accident - that was entirely Kayla’s doing.

She gives off so many mixed messages that Ricardo silently curses her some nights. Very silently, and with an edge of love. He isn’t a patient person, but he is willing to be patient for her. He'll greedily hoard every little hint of affection for as long as she doles them out. Always hungry, but at least never starving.

He doesn’t know how she’s done this to him - made him want someone enough to keep getting hurt for for them. By them. To deal with the loneliness instead of going out and finding _literally_ anyone else.

Ricardo pulls himself out of his thoughts when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Kayla tenses until she realises it isn’t his Rangers’ pager. “Date lined up?” she asks in that teasing tone that isn’t entirely teasing.

“With you? Anytime you’re free.”

“Idiot,” she grumbles, but he can see a small smile out of the corner of his eye. She tries to hide it by sipping her beer.

“Press-op tomorrow,” he groans, grappling with the too-big, reinforced phone. "...And a news notification about Sidestep."

"What?" Kayla snaps.

Ricardo grabs her laptop, ignoring her annoyed punch to his arm. At least her internet icon is easy to find. He does a search, finds the article right at the top, and clicks, scrolling through to catch the highlights. “Look at you, making waves.”

“What the hell?” Kayla bristles all over again. She leans into him, trying to see. “Photos?”

Ricardo knew it was coming, so he’s already gone to the photostream at the bottom. Two of the six photos feature her - she’s masked in both, wholly unrecognisable. One of the pictures still manages to draw a grunt of disgust from her; it has her hood pulled back, jacket open to show off the bodysuit beneath.

It's a flattering photo...not that Ricardo's about to say that out loud.

“I wish they’d stop taking pictures of me. It's the same outfit every time and they can't see my face. What's the point?"

“You're hard to get. It makes you an attractive target for the media.”

“Just the media?” she asks, dark eyes suddenly on him.

Ricardo is on very shaky ground. He can feel the metaphorical tremors, and he isn’t sure which direction to run.

Or maybe not run. Maybe plummet.

“You don't need to play hard to get for my attention. But you know that already.”

Kayla doesn’t break eye contact. Ricardo thinks she might lean in, might make things more complicated and less complicated in one go. But instead she takes her laptop, scrolling up to glance at the article.

She scans through some lines, only half-reading, but then pauses. Frowns. “Someone needs to get this asshole fired.”

“What?” Ricardo laughs, trying to figure out what she’s looking at.

“They’re calling you the big dog.”

“That’s been a thing for all marshals since I can remember.”

“And now they’re calling me a love-struck kitten.”

Ricardo tries not to laugh. He tries really, really hard. It fails, though, because the incredulity on her face is stunning. Ricardo takes back the laptop, theatrically reading aloud. “ _'Whereas Charge is known for being the lone constant on the front-line, a certain vigilante has begun to bat at his heels. Sidestep, the secretive vigilante known for being light on her feet'-_ ” Kayla groans at that “-: _is becoming an increasing presence at his side. A kitten padding along behind the big dog of Los Diablos.'_ C’mon, that didn’t say anything about love-struck.”

"They implied it."

He goes back to the photos, pretending that he's still reading. The body-shot is the most interesting for people who don’t know her, he assumes, but he’s partial to the other one. The one taken from a distance, showing Charge and Sidestep having some kind of conversation. Probably a one-sided argument, honestly, since Ricardo can see his alter-ego’s soft, adoring smile while Kayla’s alter-ego flails a hand toward a pile of rubble behind them.

If anyone is love-struck, it’s the dog, not the kitten.

Kayla notices him staring at the pictures and scoffs. She exits the tab, moves the laptop to the coffee table, and clicks the movie to start it.

“Conversation’s over, then?” he teases.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

Ricardo can’t stop grinning, stretching out, arm along the back of the sofa. It’s just a coincidence that a hand dangles down, brushing her shoulder.

“Do you want to lose your hand?” Kayla asks, the tone too soft for the words.

“I’d rather not,” he admits, but he doesn’t move.

Kayla sighs, a long-suffering one, and then comes closer, resting her head on his shoulder. She even lets him fiddle with the short ponytail at her nape.

He wants to say something smooth, but smooth doesn’t work on Kayla. Not like it does on other people. He’s beginning to learn that.

“You aren’t paying attention to the movie,” she says.

“Sure I am, Kitty.”

“Don’t you dare." She elbows him in the side to make her point.

“Why? I think it’s cute,” he defends, unable to stop his smile from spreading, spreading, spreading -

There is a long, heavy pause before Kayla sighs, adjusting her face so that it's harder for him to see it. “...Not in front of anyone else."

He still catches the flush, though. He still notices the way she tugs at her undershirt's sleeves as if she needs to pull them down further. “Not in front of anyone else,” he agrees.

He's gracious like that.

* * *


	2. Complicated | Ricardo&Chen- (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chen offers support in the succinct way only he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ortega/Kayla breakup. Comfort. Language.

* * *

**2021**

* * *

Ricardo Ortega is three beers deep when Wei Chen sits down across from him. His uninvited arrival here at Hoots should surprise Ricardo, he muses while taking a deep pull from his drink. But Ricardo's a little too preoccupied with other things at the moment.

Which is why Chen is here, no doubt.

"Ran into Kayla?" Ricardo guesses.

"In the break room." _With Argent,_ is the unspoken addition to that sentence. Trust Chen to keep things short.

"And?"

"And she mentioned you had a fight."

Ricardo snorts, smile a little too fond for the situation. Fight. Odd choice of words. He's fought with Kayla every step of their relationship. It's who they are.

Were, he supposes with another wry grin.

"She and Angie have a thing now, I guess," Ricardo says. He thinks it might sound less insane now than it did forty minutes ago, but nope. Still crazy.

Chen is watching him. Ricardo knows this because they've been side-by-side for so long that it's impossible not to know the moment his attention shifts, directs. The slight flex of a false finger is a tell - he's about to say something even though he knows he shouldn't.

"I'm sorry."

Of all of the things he could have said, _I'm sorry_ might be the worst. Ricardo narrows his eyes, glaring across the table. "For what?"

"For what's happened to you two."

Ricardo scoffs, downing his drink; the glass hits the table with too much force, but it doesn't break. "See, that's what I don't get, though. What did happen to us? Was there ever an us? It doesn't feel like it, the way she just…"

Just ended it. In the fucking _break room,_ Ricardo just wanted a damn cup of coffee, and instead, he found out that the woman he's carried a torch for _-even while she was dead!-_ doesn't care. Doesn't care the way he thought she did. The way he needed her to.

A waitress approaches. Ricardo recognises her, but can't recall her name right now. Can't even muster more than a wry smile when he asks for another drink. Chen requests a glass of water for both of them. He's here for a reason, and that reason doesn't involve joining Ricardo in despair and booze.

But the drinking helps Ricardo think, and he really needs to think right now. He needs to figure out what happened and why.

When the hell did Kayla and Angie even run into each other? Neither of them goes out of their way to make friends. Neither of them goes out much in general. They're private, aloof.

And they barely ever saw one another! For Christ's sake, Angie nearly choked Kayla out a few months ago, according to Daniel. And how often had they seen each other between then and now? Five times? Maybe?

Where the fuck did this happen? And how? Did they run into each other at the market and make out over the avocados?

How long have they been attracted to one another?

Why didn't Kayla tell him?

It makes less sense with each new question.

_You're Charge. You've got this. Think it through._

Kayla's been busy recently. With Angie? No, that doesn't add up. With Glitch tearing around and mucking things up, Lady Argent has had very little free time.

Not that Angie has minded - she loves to go up against the mirrored nuisance.

Ricardo's brows furrow a bit. How did they find time to meet up, then? To meet up enough that it would end in a bitten lip and a relationship that's serious enough to require a _Talk_?

Ricardo's drink and the two glasses of water arrive. He sighs, taking a long pull before meeting Chen's gaze. "You're quiet."

"So are you," is the typically unhelpful response.

Ricardo grinds his teeth for a brief moment, an old habit he thought was well and gone. There's a decided lack of expression on Chen's face. That's a tell, too. Something is troubling him, something he's been chewing over for a while. Closing in on an answer, and it's an answer he doesn't like.

Chen dislikes his deduction enough that it's deepening the crease between his brows. It looks painful - how he isn't getting a headache, Ricardo can't figure. "What is it?" Ricardo bites. Maybe it will be something that can distract him for a bit.

"Things have become...complicated over this past year."

Ricardo arches a brow at him. "That's...it? Things are complicated?" It makes him grin despite himself, relaxing, and Chen shares the smile. Soft.

"Complicated," Chen confirms, raising his water glass. Ricardo chuckles, clicking his drink with Chen's.

Complicated.

* * *


	3. Pancakes | Herald/f!Sidestep (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Kayla spend Saturday morning together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herald/Kayla smut  
>  **TW: suicidal intrusive thoughts**

* * *

**2021**

* * *

When Kayla wakes up, it’s with her face pressed against Daniel’s shoulder blade. She resists the urge to snuggle closer, to push herself against him, to burrow deep, to stay here in this warm bed with this warm body.

Instead, she settles for kissing his spine - right between the shoulder blades, right above his centre of gravity. This prompts a slight twitch, a little moan, something so soft and sleepy that Kayla can’t help the smile.

Damn him for doing this to her. Damn him for making her feel so soft.

Her lips don’t curse him aloud; they map a course up his spine to the nape of his neck. Daniel lets out another soft noise, adjusting - Kayla takes it as an invitation to get closer, wrapping one leg around his, hooking, drawing him in. His mind is slowly shifting from peaceful, soft sleep to an overpour of happiness - sunshine lighting up the darkened room.

His neck straining, Daniel looks over his shoulder, a sleepy smile -too bright, too real- curving his lips. “Morning,” he greets.

Kayla can’t stop the smile, rising to place a kiss to his mouth. Chaste. Keep things cool. “Morning,” she replies, a hand trailing across his side, hesitating on a scar along his hip, cropped nails tracing it for a moment. She’d somehow missed that one in last night’s exploration. It’s small, crescent-shaped, easy to overlook. “I should probably go…”

There’s a flare of dejection from Daniel’s thoughts, followed by swirling butterflies. He’s thinking, and he’s doing it so rapidly that it’s more akin to tiny explosions than real thoughts. “I want to make you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Kayla laughs, unable to help it. “What, cereal?”

Daniel looks scandalised at the suggestion. “What? No! Real breakfast. Like...pancakes?” he offers it tentatively as if he thinks pancakes are beneath her.

“I _am_ weak for pancakes,” she allows, grinning when Daniel’s face and mind light up. She pecks a few kisses to a shoulder already marked with love-nips, little mulberry smudges against his tanned skin.

Daniel turns over, dragging her toward him. The kisses are slow, lingering, and she melts into them. She focuses only on the motions, only on their skin pressed together. Dials back his thoughts, dials back her own.

But she breaks free when she realises that their bodies are beginning to respond to one another. She can’t get sucked back into that right now - if she does, she’s liable never to leave. It’s addictive. _He_ is.

She withdraws with some effort, putting a finger to Daniel’s lips to keep him from following. “I need a smoke.”

Daniel grumbles good-naturedly, his smile wide despite her denial, despite the fact that he was just having other thoughts for where her mouth could go. Kayla smacks his chest with a laugh, which only makes him flush and grin, too pleased. Too accepting that she’s always listening.

It’s hard not to when his mind is shouting things at her.

“I’m going to take a shower now if that’s alright?” Daniel pulls himself out of bed, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“I think I can allow you to take a shower in your own home,” Kayla smirks. While Daniel wanders into his walk-in closet, she reaches for last night’s clothes. They’re a rumpled mess, not that Kayla cares. If Daniel isn’t bothered by the bright orange tattoos all over her body, she doubts he’ll bat an eye at a wrinkled sweater.

“Here,” Daniel offers when he comes out, a tee shirt and sweatpants in one hand, more clothing over his shoulder. “It’ll be more comfortable.”

She takes them from him, accepting a kiss to her cheek, and then her lips, and _dear God_ he has her in his arms, his clothing falling off of his shoulder. Arms around her, pulling her back in, hands tracing her spine.

“Shower,” she scolds.

Daniel grins, too pleased to be bashful. One last kiss, and then he’s moving to the en suite, taking the clothing with him.

Kayla dresses in her borrowed lounge-wear before escaping to the living room. Up the spiral stairs, out onto the rooftop. The sun is merciless, higher in the sky than she expected. Christ, she hasn’t even checked her phone yet. Hasn’t thought about her plans with the Regenerator.

Shit. Daniel is a real complication.

She lights her cigarette, placing her back to the wind, and takes a long drag. The view from here was romantic last night, but in the bright morning, it's...different. Still dreamy, she supposes, but it’s harsher, too. Realer. Rough around the edges.

She doesn’t realise she’s moving until she’s a foot away from the edge of the roof. If she jumped, would she die before she hit the ground? Didn’t she hear something like that? If you fall from high enough, you’re much more likely to die from a heart attack than the collision?

She isn’t sure if that's right, though. She’ll have to look it up.

She finishes her cigarette and takes another step toward the edge. The city looms in front of her, spreads around her. She’s apart from it, and yet she can’t look in any direction without knowing it’s there. A constant, silent reminder that she can’t be comfortable for long.

Kayla drops the cigarette butt over the edge of the roof; it plummets, disappearing from view almost instantly.

She edges a toe over the lip. Just a toe. Not enough to do anything, just enough to…

To do what, Kayla doesn’t know.

She frowns. The wind gusts, sending goosebumps along her bare forearms.

And then she retreats inside, seeking warmth and comfort for reasons she can’t quite understand.

Intrusive thoughts. That’s all Dr Finch says they are, so that must be it, right?

Kayla pads through the living room, remembering to pick up the glass she’d hurled last night in a fit of self-destructive rage. Right before showing Daniel the truth, she was completely ready to lose everything.

_To push more than a toe over the edge._

Returning to the bedroom for her phone, Kayla picks up on a single stray thought from the en suite. _Picks up_ is a very mild way to put it, though - it's practically shouted.

Kayla sets her phone on the side-table, ignoring it in favour of Daniel’s oh-too-tempting desire to have her there.

She opens the door, glad for the smooth hinges. The steam obstructs her view as she pushes.into the room, but she's been more blind than this in the past. This is nothing. Child's play.

Kayla closes the door, tossing herr shirt onto the counter. She barely even slows, stepping out of the sweatpants. And then she’s coming up to the absurdly large shower, the glass door quietly swinging open.

Steam rushes toward her, but she steps through. Onto the slick tile. Into the warmth. “You called?” she teases,

Daniel turns to her with soft thoughts and a gentle smile. “I wondered if that might work.”

"You're using my powers against me," she notes, pressing into his personal space. The second-hand spray is cold, but Daniel is warm. Always so warm.

He drags her in. His mouth covers her, trailing along her neck, following a ragged series of scars to her collarbone. Kayla's eyes flutter, and she's very glad he's too occupied to have seen it. The last thing she needs is to pick up on how he sees her, how he adores every emotion that flits across her face.

Fucking hell, he's going to be the death of her. Perhaps literally, but certainly figuratively.

The water is hot when he turns her around. The tiled wall is less so when she backs herself against it, drawing him close. Kayla doesn't even consider what she's doing because she doesn't need to. Not with Daniel.

His mouth covers hers, tongue overwhelming everything else for a moment. He's more assertive now, less tentative than last night. Part of her hates that he has her pinned, that her breath is stammering, that she wants this.

What changed during the night? What made her decide that she didn't need to control everything?

His hands slide down, gripping her upper thighs, the question evident even without his thoughts. Kayla nods, a quick jerk of her head, and Daniel grins.

He hefts her legs up around his hips with no effort. Kayla feels a swoosh of vertigo as Daniel's powers keep her up, weightless against him.

Daniel is hard against the inside of her left thigh. It's almost painful but, more than that, it's not where she wants it to be. Kayla shifts against him, but not enough. Breaking free of his mouth, she demands, "Get inside me. Now."

He's very good at following her orders. She discovered that last night, but it's still just as pleasing to feel and watch his excitement overtake him. People-pleasers have always bothered Kayla -maybe because of her past- but with Daniel…

It's different.

Daniel adjusts himself, a hand breaking from her thigh to properly position himself. And then he's right where she wants him. Kayla lets out a moan she would deny if she had the wherewithal to do so. But as it is, Daniel is thrusting into her, pace quick, effortless, and she’s making noises that would embarrass her if she were aware enough to notice them.

Kayla does the only thing she can, clinging to him with one arm around his neck, the other fisting on his hair. He kisses her like she needs it to breathe, and she's beginning to think he might be right - her mouth feels lonely without his.

She tugs his hair back when a thought flutters by, mouth latching onto his neck. Daniel gasps, head falling to her shoulder, hips stuttering with longing. Kayla bites, sucking the flesh in, teeth a teasing threat. But Kayla doesn't bite down -would Daniel want her to stop if she did? No, she doesn't think so...hmmm.

"Fuck," Daniel hisses against her shoulder, thrusts uneven. He's getting too close, but he doesn't want to stop. He needs to make sure --

Kayla smirks at that, sucking another hickey to his throat. Higher this time, unable to be blocked by his suit. The media team will be furious.

"Kayla," he stammers, doing his best to hold back.

"Hmm?" she teases as if she can't tell what he's warning her about. Moving to the shell of his ear, giving the lobe a quick nip on the way, she breathes, "Come for me."

He whimpers but holds himself back with more restraint than she gives him credit for. "Not yet," he gasps when she repeats her command, this time while placing a bite to the skin above his frantic jugular.

An uncontrolled thrust slams Kayla’s back into the wall with more force than she expects. She sees spots, but not because of the impact. Because Daniel sees spots, hovering too close to his orgasm, his body rebelling.

It's overwhelming to feel the things he does. It's seductive, the desire to lean into that. So Kayla lowers her shields a little more, just a fraction, and the need washes over her.

"Oh God," she whispers -thinks she whispers. She might have yelped, but she can't think about that right now. All she can think about is Daniel's pleasure.looping through her, joining her own, escalating with each twitch of their bodies.

Daniel pulls away from her shoulder to kiss her, and Kayla is more than happy to accept.

Her climax is overwhelming. Kayla goes blind for a few moments, her toes and fingers clenching, her calves screaming, thighs straining where they vice around Daniel. She's crashing through, falling, but there's no hitting the ground after this. No pain. Warm.

Daniel is holding her against the wall. Her feet made it to the ground at some point, but they're unset gelatine. Daniel is halfway between holding her up and pinning her in place, his own body shuddering in micro-shakes, little aftershocks.

"Christ," Kayla whispers in spite of herself.

Daniel -face flushed, glowing, happy- laughs and places a kiss to her lips. "Thank you," he says. So earnest. So sweet.

It makes Kayla uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as it should; maybe because Daniel's mind is wide open, swimming in bliss.

Or because she is.

Or maybe because he actually, honest-to-God, means it.

"Thank me with pancakes," she says, grasping for some semblance of composure.

"I can do that," he chuckles. But not before pulling her close, holding her tight.

He's going to be the death of her. Right now, she doesn't even mind.

* * *

  
  



	4. Celebrating | Ricardo/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo and Kayla have a nice night until, inevitably, he ruins it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo/Kayla. Early years. Make out turns to a disagreement as they are wont to do with these two.

* * *

**2010**

* * *

It's rare for Kayla to drink enough that she drops her guard. She doesn't like showing that she has a softer side, a human one. But sometimes, like tonight, she slips up.

She's swaying in Ricardo's living room with a tumbler of vodka in hand. She brought the bottle herself - to celebrate, she'd texted three hours prior.

Ricardo still doesn't know what they're celebrating, but that’s fine. It doesn’t matter because Kayla is relaxed so he is, too. Warm, affectionate, everything feeling so close and comfortable.

(Not to mention she spent dinner smiling, teasing him with heavy-lidded eyes and that snarky, raspy laugh of hers.)

Ricardo takes a moment in the kitchen doorway, watching her. Swaying. Humming? Is she _humming?_ That widens his smile. It's off-key but pleasant enough.

Her sleeves are still rolled up from doing the dishes - rolled up to her elbows, carefully tucked to stay in place. Ricardo can't see the scars on her forearms from this angle, but he knows they're there.

(Scars that made anger spike through him when he first saw them. That made an electric current ripple through the room, his mods overreacting, Kayla wincing in pain.)

Ricardo forces himself to stop thinking about the scars. Whatever horrors are etched on her skin, she's here now. She's happy and dancing by herself to the music spilling through the audio system.

And then she turns, catching him staring. Ricardo thinks about feigning embarrassment to give her an edge, but he can't stop the smile.

"What's with the shit-eating grin?" she asks, sipping her vodka. She isn't withdrawing into herself, she's being coy…

Interesting.

Ricardo's smile widens. "Just wondering who taught you to dance."

"No one," Kayla replies. She's still moving, but just a little. Only a small sway to her hips, her shoulders. Is she doing that to see if he'll watch? Because she should know he will.

"Thought so," he chuckles, coming closer to pour more vodka into her glass.

Kayla blinks at him in some mix of annoyance and delight. "Excuse me, I’m lighter on my feet than you could ever be. Under _any_ circumstance."

"Sure, but you still can't dance for shit," he teases, loving that her cheeks have gone rosy.

"You're such an asshole." There's no real heat to the words, or to her glare. There might even be a twitch of amusement that she hides with a mouthful of vodka.

"You're supposed to savour this stuff," Ricardo points out.

"Really? I'm just trying to get hammered." As if to prove her point, she finishes off the tumbler with a showy flourish.

"And why are you getting hammered?"

"I'm celebrating."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Nope." She sets her glass on the coffee table, retrieving her pack of cigarettes and lighter. She's lighting one before she makes it to the balcony, the little shit. And staring at Ricardo as she passes, daring him to say something.

He doesn't, but he does grab her around the waist, pulling her in. She makes an indignant noise, voice muffled as she talks around the cigarette. "I can't smoke outside if you don't let me go."

"Then don't."

Kayla's gaze rises - slowly, almost like she's afraid of what she'll see. Maybe afraid of what she'll show, what her face will give away. "You never let me smoke in here."

"First time for everything."

Kayla slowly reaches up to remove the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. There isn't much space between them, and Ricardo's hand is still lightly resting on her hip. She could move with minimal effort, but she stays where she is.

Ricardo isn't sure if she's testing her resolve or his.

"What are you doing?" she asks after three silence-filled pulls on her cigarette. Her fingers are steady, but there's something a little haunted in her gaze.

"Thinking."

Kayla rolls her eyes; Ricardo can practically see her considering how to react. She knows better than to indulge these setups, but she can never resist. Ricardo thinks it's her curiosity. She claims it's her self-destructive tendencies. "Thinking about what?"

"A few things." He steals the cigarette, taking a hit before returning it, carefully and gently, to her mouth.

Her cheeks are a bit redder, aren't they? Did her lashes flutter just a little? He doesn't know, but she isn't moving away, she isn't brushing off his hand.

"Are you planning on sharing those thoughts, or just standing there looking smug?" Mumbled around the cigarette. Ash flutters to the floor - Ricardo, surprisingly, only feels the mildest of distress-pangs.

"I think I should teach you how to dance."

"Christ," Kayla laughs. More ash falls. The tip glows orange as she takes a deep pull. "You're the worst."

"Is that a yes, then?"

Kayla steps away and saunters toward the kitchen. Ricardo stays put, gives her space. It takes a bit more willpower than he likes, but he manages. The vodka helps; he takes a drink from the chilled bottle, staring after her.

She's getting water. Probably putting out the cigarette, too. Her footsteps are nearly silent, but Ricardo can hear her coming all the same. He's hyper-aware of her - has been for a while, not that he ever admitted it before the Psychopathor's eye-opening rampage.

"Alright," she drawls as she returns. Tipsy, loose-limbed, but still in control. Has Ricardo ever seen her _not_ in control? What’s he thinking - of course he hasn’t. "Teach me to dance."

Ricardo smirks at her. She smirks back, arching a brow in challenge. Ricardo can't pass up the opportunity to get her back into his arms, and she comes willingly enough.

They start slow, just a bit of a sway. Kayla, usually so tense, is pliable in his arms; she doesn't even flinch when the hand on her waist tightens, when he leans down, hovering, waiting.

She takes pity on him, arms tightening around his neck, dragging him down into a kiss. One hand goes into his hair - the other slips down, palm flat against his chest. Feeling his heartbeat? He hopes so. He hopes she can tell how much this means to him.

Ricardo pulls her toward the couch, refusing to break the kiss. He knows the room well enough -has done this same thing before, if he’s honest- so they make it to the cushions without a fuss. Kayla’s on her back, hair falling from her ponytail, tangled around her face.

And those eyes. The hazel is nearly eclipsed by her pupils - wide and begging him, her fingers digging into his hips, yanking him down. One of his knees settles between her legs, and her hips buck in response.

The sound of denim scraping across denim is about to drive Ricardo mad. It gets even worse when Kayla arches herself into him, against the seam of his jeans.

He breaks free from her mouth, from her overeager tongue, and bites a kiss to her throat. Her hips snap in response, rubbing herself against his thigh, making the fire in his abdomen dance.

He's mumbling to her, not even sure half of what he's saying. Mostly Spanish. He doesn't even realise he's describing a handful of things he'd love to do to her until her flushed cheeks go crimson.

She shoves him a little, forcing him to look at her and the grimace she's wearing. Aroused and embarrassed about it. So self-conscious. "Does tía Elena know the things that come out of your mouth?"

"I hope not," he admits, loving how she grins, how she wiggles when he lowers to pepper kisses along her throat. "Granted, she's never met anyone else I've dated, so it'd be…"

Ricardo trails off because Kayla has gone very still. And then she is struggling to get out from under him. "I need to go," she mumbles, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Kayla-"

"Fucking idiot," she seethes - for once, it seems directed at herself, not him. She's on her feet, stumbling a bit in her haste, heading for the entryway.

"I didn't-"

"I know you didn't mean it," she snaps. Her glare demands that he agree, but he can't because that _is_ what he meant. What he wants. "You never mean it, and that's fine because I can't be what you need me to be anyway."

"Just wait-"

"We're _not_ dating."

"Okay," Ricardo says, hands up in a surrendering motion, hurt and confused. "That's fine. I just needed clarification."

Kayla doesn't look at him, shoving her feet into her boots, bending to lace them. Her fingers are shaking.

"Kayla, come on. We can just watch a movie or something. You've been drinking."

"I'll call a cab." She collects her hoodie and coat, struggling into the former.

"I'll do it," he says, already getting his phone. "Just wait up here until-"

"I'll wait downstairs. Thanks for the dinner and dance."

"Kayla-" But she's out the door, slamming it behind her.

Ricardo calls for a car, resisting the urge to follow her to the lobby. Give her time. Give her space.

Easier said than done, but Ricardo is going to try his damnedest anyway.

* * *


	5. Playdate | Argent/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Argent and Glitch meet up for a playdate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Argent/Kayla. Mild violence. Language.

* * *

**2021**

* * *

Getting Lady Argent to the boardwalk isn’t hard - not that getting her to come out for playdates has ever taken much effort. Glitch doesn’t need to do anything more than show up and toss some smoke bombs to draw the woman’s attention.

As far as Glitch can figure, there are three different possibilities for Argent’s zeal.

 _One_. The Rangers’ headlines get more favourable after each run-in with Glitch. The Rangers look better, more coordinated. They ensure no civilians get hurt - not that Glitch has any intention of hurting civilians.

And, most importantly, the Rangers always have the villain on the run. ‘ _The shadowy, mirror-faced villain, at first a boogeyman, is barely more than a nuisance to the Rangers now_.’

That is how the tabloids see Glitch. An annoyance.

(Kayla likes to see the humour in the situation. During Sidestep’s early days, the media often portrayed her as an afterthought in the hero discussion. Now they say the same about Glitch’s villain status. Which is fair, Kayla guesses. It definitely looks like she’s shit at her job…if her job was putting them back in the hospital.

But it isn't. Not that she can tell people she's trying to get the heroes to toughen up. They're a shadow of their former glory, and that only helps those in power. Kayla is done helping those in power.

But she can’t just tell people that she's starting a war with the monsters who created her, who refused to let her die. The entire fucking government, if she has to.

Hopefully, when she finally reveals herself to the heroes, they'll be willing to overlook the hospitalisations and overall irritation. But she can't tell them why she needs them - not yet.)

 _Two_. Argent is, quite simply, having fun. Glitch was -is?- her nemesis for a reason; Glitch makes things feel real again. Glitch isn’t as good as her, but good enough. Good enough to keep her guessing, to make things interesting.

 _Three_. It turns Argent on.

(Kayla’s partial to that last one, if she’s honest.)

"Glitch," Argent grins, teeth sharp as she approaches. "Been a while. I was starting to think you'd gone soft on me."

(Kayla can't stop the smile, but that's fine. She wears a mask for more than one reason.) "Aww, you missed me?"

"Missed is such a strong word."

And then she's moving - dashing forward, angling, sliding underneath Glitch's kick, a fist connecting with her supporting knee. Luckily the armour diffuses the force, the HUD sparking yellow for a second, a little warning. Glitch merely stumbles back, trying to get her head on straight.

(Kayla’s let Argent make her soft. There have been too many meet-ups. Too many movie nights. Too many makeout sessions. Glitch is paying the price for her alter-ego’s inability to say no to the metallic angel that’s currently diving toward her - claws extending, seeking, thirsting.)

Glitch moves, the Rat King squeaking their approval as Glitch cuts the dodge short, doing it with so little preamble that Argent doesn't see it coming. Glitch's elbow strikes hard against Argent's nose, making the woman grunt and fall back.

No break, no blood, but plenty of cursing. "You're such a little shit," Argent snaps, but her lips curl into a vicious smile.

(The Rat King chitters and cuddles close in Kayla's consciousness, loving and soothing. The little rodent minds know that Argent isn't a fatal threat, so they allow themselves -and Kayla- to treat the fight like a training session. Which it basically is, considering Argent doesn't plan to do more than cause some bruises; Kayla doesn't need to read her mind to know that by now.)

"You love it," Glitch replies, watching Argent shake off the pain with a flip of her hair.

"Maybe a little..." Between one breath and the next, fluid as quicksilver, Argent is back. Her claws are still extended, but not as sharp as Glitch knows they can be. One catches across Glitch's arm, which she raises at the last moment to block her mask. Glitch knocks Argent's arm away, taking a punch to her gut for her lethargy, and staggers back.

"You plan on fighting me, or are you settling for getting your ass kicked?" Argent taunts. She legitimately sounds annoyed by that prospect.

"My mistake - I thought you were still warming up."

Argent laughs. The sound is not kind, but it is pleased. She slightly shifts her weight; Glitch remains calm, loose-limbed, unconcerned. Part of her media appeal is the unflappability, and she is very aware that a news helicopter has arrived.

Argent arches an impatient brow - _can we get on with this now_? the expression says.

(Kayla cracks her neck); Glitch rolls out her shoulders, and then moves - testing a feint to her left, twisting out of the way when Argent's fist comes for her. Under the arm, reach up, grab -- _perfect_. She has Argent's wrist in her hand, twisting it, trapping it.

Argent growls in annoyance. Her other fist connects, hitting just shy of a kidney. The organ doesn't know how close it came to getting liquified, but Glitch's HUD certainly does; it flashes red before changing to a steady yellow glow.

"Shit," comes out through Glitch's distorter. That was the hardest hit Argent's landed on her in a while.

"Oh no, did I hurt you?" Argent teases, tensing to do it again.

Glitch releases her hold, diving back, on the defensive.

_always on the defensive_

_still running_

Argent follows, but that's fine. Glitch is beginning to understand that letting Argent get a lead in the early moments makes her cocky. All Glitch has to do is keep her moving - she'll slip up on her own.

But not yet. Argent is laser-focused right now, her smile sharp, all teeth. She comes in low, as she usually does. It makes sense, given her height and speed - harder to hit. Glitch prepared for one of Argent's usual swipes, but she surprises with a sudden sweep. Glitch goes over the leg, of course - even without the Rat King, that one would have been easy.

But as Glitch returns to the ground, Argent comes up. Her hands vice Glitch's mask, yanking her down into a raised knee. Argent gets in two hits before shoving Glitch away.

Glitch stumbles, hits the ground on her back, and barely has time to roll aside when Argent comes down with a hand fused into a short blade.

(Kayla curses. A spike of fear lances through her, the first she's felt with Argent in a long time. That attack was too much like their first battle - part two, the one in the sewers, the one that left Kayla with a nasty scar along her arm.)

Glitch doesn't have time to come up with something snarky to say because Argent is on the move again, not waiting for Glitch to find her feet. So Glitch doesn’t try to - she rolls. Her foot lashes out in a solid hit to Argent's abdomen. It sends the woman back, off-balance, and Glitch is up.

A little flick of the jump jet throttle takes her up and over Argent's next lunge. Argent circles back, but Glitch can sense her mind - unshielded, sharp, bristling. She sidesteps, goes under a thrust, and jams a shoulder into Argent's belly. There isn’t as much resistance as Glitch expects, so her follow-up toss is a little too forceful.

Argent hits the wall of an ice-cream shop, busting through the siding as if it's styrofoam.

(Kayla winces inside the helmet. At least she knows the city will take care of the damages.)

"You son of a bitch," Argent mutters when she returns, stomping out of the wreckage. "What if someone had been in there?"

"They weren't," is Glitch's reply. Simple. To the point. Glitch isn't Kayla - Glitch isn't going to explain herself. She isn't going to assure Argent that she'd already ensured there weren't civilians loitering within the fight radius.

Argent rolls her eyes, flicks her glorious hair over one shoulder, and then says, "Fine. You want to bust things all to hell - let's play."

This attack is harsher than the previous ones. Argent is having the time of her life, practically giddy with each hit she lands. With each one she receives, even.

She stops smiling when Glitch's fist sneaks through her defenses, knuckles pummelling against the small of her back. She shouts, twisting as she falls, bringing Glitch down with her.

But that's okay, because Glitch's on top - in the perfect position to toss an elbow, pinning Argent's throat to the boardwalk planks with her other hand.

"This feels backwards," Glitch teases.

"Let's remedy that."

Argent's hips tilt and thrust, tossing Glitch's unsuspecting weight to the side. Argent rolls with her, fluid, coming down with her fists.

Not sharp, not claws. Argent isn't here to hurt her...much. (Kayla needs to remember that when the phantom fear rises up.

_not safe not safe **predator**_

The Rat King soothes the spike of terror, the unexpected return to her early days, to the Farm. To the people who only liked to hurt her in small doses in order to have something to tear apart later, too.)

Argent hits her twice, readying for a third when she hesitates. "Hey," she snaps, sharp and impatient. "Did I rattle your brain too much, or can we finish this?"

Glitch retakes the reins, shoving Kayla down deep. Glitch uses Argent's hesitation to slam her mask into the woman's gorgeous face. Right into the nose again, which seems to infuriate Argent more than anything else. "Fuck's sake!" she snarls, recovering at the same time Glitch does. "You're so annoying."

"It's part of my charm," Glitch returns, finally shifting to the offensive.

Argent tries to dodge - she really does. But Argent misjudges, thinks Glitch is going wider than she does. It ends with Argent buckling from a knee to her side. Glitch catches her before she can fall, only to toss her toward the boardwalk railing. The metal bends under her, a dip that can't be buffed, and Glitch crosses the space in a couple of strides.

"How are we feeling?" Glitch teases, grabbing Argent's hair, yanking her into a poised knee. "Ready to stop?"

"Fuck you," Argent hisses. The soft strands of hair turn sharp, gouging into Glitch's glove, scouring.

(Kayla curses. She's run her hands through those locks too often recently. Forgot they're as dangerous as the rest of Argent if she wants them to be.)

Argent isn't the only one who's getting sloppy.

Glitch compensates with a knee to Argent's chin, slamming her into the railing once more. It further buckles, and Argent shouts in distress.

(Kayla freezes. That sound is something she wasn't ready for.)

Glitch says nothing (but Kayla wants to apologise. Christ, what has happened to her? Why does the sight of Argent like this make her chest constrict?). She does step back, though, crossing her arms, playing up the taunting for the helicopters. A second has arrived, buzzing closer than the first.

They're lucky as hell that Glitch doesn't have projectiles (and that Kayla isn't much of a villain).

Argent gets to her feet, expression torn between fury and excitement. Glitch expects some kind of quip, but she doesn't get it. Instead, she gets Argent crossing the space between them, clawed hands going for her mask.

Glitch falls back, sidesteps, and retreats a little. Just enough to get some space.

_always on the run_

Argent follows. She's done getting hit in the face, it seems, and is more interested in taking off Glitch's. The woman's claws hit home a few more times than Glitch would like to admit. The helmet is strong, but it's not impervious. Argent manages to gouge a scratch into the surface and seems quite pleased by it.

Glitch takes a horrible gamble, grabbing one of Argent's wrists, pulling her in. She twists the wrist, ducks under the retaliatory swipe, and pulls her arm behind her back. Argent hisses, her free hand jabbing backwards, scouring the armour at Glitch's side, trying to burrow in. The HUD flashes as if Glitch can't tell things aren't going so well.

Glitch's free arm wraps around Argent's throat, trapping her in a hold. "Can I admit something?" Glitch asks.

Argent grunts in response - the hold isn't restricting her much, more for show than anything else. "Seriously? Right now?"

"Why not?" Glitch purrs - it doesn't come out that way, damn distorters, but there isn't much she can do about that. The intent was there, at least. Glitch lowers her face a bit; if it weren't for the mask, she'd nuzzle Argent's cheek. As it is, she settles for "You are so hot right now."

"I'm always hot," Argent returns before her claws redouble their efforts on Glitch's side.

Glitch tosses her away, but Argent fluidly rolls to her feet, turning to meet Glitch with a smirk.

(She isn't flushed, but her expression is smug enough to assure Kayla that the compliment was well received.)

They clash again. Argent gets Glitch on the back foot, backing her toward the shops. The spectators fall back as they get closer. Glitch almost manages to get Argent pinned after a well-timed jab to the back of a knee, sprawling her against a wall. But Argent rolls, too slippery, and tosses an elbow, then a jab from her claws.

Glitch goes through the hole Argent made not a few moments ago. The inside of the shop is mostly untouched for the moment, just a few upended tables and chairs, but Glitch doesn't think that will last for long.

Argent comes through; Glitch scurries to her feet, backing up, knocking furniture from her path. "Doing a little more property damage than usual," Glitch notes.

Argent doesn't answer. She fakes a grab, instead catching Glitch around the throat. She’s started taking advantage of Glitch's unwillingness to ( _Kayla’s promise not to_ ) use her telepathy, to read too far into Argent’s intentions.

Glitch goes over the counter, knocking ice cream cones to the floor, further shattering them when she lands. Argent hops onto the counter and over without a word. She doesn't wait for Glitch to get her bearings; her hand returns to Glitch's throat, dragging her across the tile. Glitch grunts as Argent tosses her through the door -breaking the cheap piece of wood in half- and into the back room.

Glitch is up, but Argent doesn't attack -- doesn't attack Glitch, anyway. She slams a hand into the store's security equipment, destroying it without a flinch. "Mask off," she growls.

(Kayla lets out a short laugh, surprised.) It comes through Glitch's suit as a guttural hiss. "Really? Right now?"

"Are you turning me down?" Argent looks indignant.

"There's no way the store doesn't have an electronic feed for that system," Glitch points out. "I'm not about to get caught just so I can make out with you."

" _Really_?" Argent smirks, stepping closer.

"As tempting as it is, really."

"I meant, ' _Really_ , you don't think I've already shut down everything around us?'" she smirks. "What am I, an amateur?"

Kayla's an absolute idiot because she, once again, removes her helmet for someone who can destroy her at any second. But she doesn't care, especially not when Argent's mouth finds hers.

Softly. Tongue gentle, caressing. Kayla relaxes into it, arms wrapping around her, pulling her up, closer. Her fingers splay across the small of Argent's back, gently pressing, testing her luck.

Argent arches, a soft noise slipping through. She pulls back, as Kayla thought she might, eyes closed. Focused. And then she's back, mouth seeking - rougher this time. Intense.

Hungry.

Kayla moans into the kiss as it deepens, but the noise abruptly changes. Turns into a hiss of pain, tongue throbbing.

Argent immediately pulls back, steps away, creates some distance between them. She's pissed, that much is clear. But not at Kayla.

"It's fine," Kayla awkwardly chuckles while her mouth fills with blood. So much blood. Christ, she hopes she doesn't need to stitch her tongue. Maybe it isn't as bad as it seems.

"Time to wrap this up," Argent says, looking calm but sounding slightly shaken. Or maybe it's Kayla who's slightly shaken, who's projecting.

Kayla reaches for her mask. She considers spitting blood onto the ground, but blood leaves DNA and Kayla's already been too stupid. So she swallows it, nearly gags, and hopes she makes it home before her stomach revolts.

She puts on the helmet. Glitch rolls her shoulders, noticing how Argent has relaxed now that the mask is in place.

"Through the wall?"

Glitch groans, but acquiesces. "I'll toss a civilian or two so you can be a hero."

"Toss?" Disapproving.

"Shove a little," Glitch groans. "It's not like I'm going to go for kids or pensioners."

Argent gives a dismissive wave of her hand. "Fine, but if someone gets hurt, I'll take it out on you later."

"Done," Glitch agrees, shaking herself out. Preparing for the impending brain-scrambling.

Argent throws her, and she throws her _hard_. The hole in the wall makes it a smoother ride, but Glitch bangs her arm pretty badly in the fall. (A stray thought, _at least I didn't bite my tongue_ , flits through Kayla's mind.)

Argent's footsteps come across the boardwalk, and Glitch gets up with a little trouble. "While I always love our playdates-"

"You're running again?" Argent smirks. It's softer than it should be.

"You'd get bored of me otherwise," Glitch teases with a little salute. And then she's off, toward the crowds of people. Argent gives chase, but Glitch weaves, telepathically nudging some people from her path… and into Argent’s. It doesn't take long for Glitch to lose her.

(Kayla grins inside the helmet, diverting everyone's attention away from her as she makes her way to her rendezvous point with Boris. The grin wavers a little when her body reminds her that she's swallowing blood, and it is far from pleasant.)

Boris glances at her when she slides into the vehicle. "How'd it go?"

"Smooth as silk," Glitch replies - and actually means it. What's a cut tongue when she gets to have this much fun?

* * *


	6. Dinner Date | Ricardo/Argent/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first group dinner date, in three parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo/Argent/Kayla. Poly relationship, language.

* * *

**2021**

* * *

**Argent.**

Lady Argent is pleased to see that her expression is serene when she crosses the street, catching her reflection in the store windows. Even though she's coming closer to Ricardo's apartment -toward the first group-dinner they've managed to plan around their schedules- she looks at peace.

Why wouldn't she? She's Lady-fucking-Argent. She's indestructible.

But she doesn't quite feel that way inside, and she isn't sure if she can fake it an entire evening. She's stepping into a lion's den with someone she's been interested in for years and their sworn enemy.

Nothing to be worried about. Just a pair of heroes and a villain trying to play house.

It's stupid. Argent wants to say that she can't believe she's doing this, but she really can.

(Kayla saw her, and she saw Kayla. There was something that made sense at that moment, in each moment after.)

"Gross," she mutters, adjusting her sunglasses to cover her restless reaction to her own thoughts.

And here she is. Ricardo's building. She was here once before when she dropped him off after a concussed stint in the hospital. What was that, two years ago? Before Herald, anyway.

Even after that long, the doorman is still the same and still recognises her enough to let her past without anything more than pleasantries.

She's hard to forget, though.

Argent climbs the stairs, reaches Ricardo's door, and knocks as if she has all the confidence in the world.

Ricardo opens the door, looking as cool as ever. Never flustered, this man. Or so he pretends. Why he bothers to act with her -or Kayla- is baffling. They've seen him at his worst, at his lowest. Scared. Broken.

Well, Kayla didn't get to see the broken one. But Argent did.

"Welcome," he grins, stepping to the side - but only a little. Argent's smirk doesn't twitch as she steps up, kisses his cheek, and pushes past.

"Drink?" he offers, closing the door, locking up.

"In a minute," Argent waves him off, taking long strides through the apartment. She hadn't gotten to explore last time.

"You look like you're casing the place." Ricardo doesn't mind, voice amused as he leans against the wall, watching her.

"Oh yes, I'm sure your weird retro setup would go for a lot," she returns with a simper that can stop hearts. It definitely seems to stop his, the way he looks at her.

"I'm seeing a decided lack of our favourite sourpuss," Argent continues. Her eyes go to the patio and, sure enough, there is Kayla. Pacing. Smoking. "How many has she gone through since she's been here?" Argent asks, amused and a bit concerned.

" _Dios mío_ ," Ortega groans, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Too many." He pushes off the wall, grabbing his beer from the coffee table. "I'll poke the bear this time, but it's on you next time."

Argent smiles, really smiles, and Ortega mirrors it.

* * *

**Kayla**.

This is awkward.

So awkward.

But Kayla distracts herself by pacing the balcony, chain-smoking in the wind. The dry air makes her wince, but at least the sun is setting. At least there's that.

Christ, what is she doing?

How many times has she asked herself this same question over the past weeks? It was easy enough to avoid it for a while, but all good things come to an end. In this situation, the harbingers of doom are Ricardo and Argent, and their weapon of destruction is dinner.

"Fuck," Kayla hisses, reaching for her dwindling pack, pulling out a cigarette between two fingers, expertly lighting it off of its dying predecessor.

The balcony door opens before Kayla's even halfway done with it. It's Ricardo with a beer in his hand, a gentle smile on his face. “You planning on greeting our guest anytime soon?”

Kayla rolls her eyes to the sky, exhaling a long stream of smoke. It's whipped away by the wind, blowing straight into Ricardo's face.

He curses in Spanish while retreating inside, and Kayla snorts back a laugh. It’s probably a bad thing, how she gains her cool when others lose it.

But she can’t think about that right now. She puts out the cigarette in a packed ashtray, and then enters the flat. It's easier to face the end after a good chuckle.

"-early grave, the way she's going," Ricardo is saying to Argent.

Argent glances toward Kayla as she steps through the door, silvery lips tilting up in a smirk. "Thank God. Maybe he'll stop whining now that you're in here."

"Don't count on it," Kayla grins. It's easier to be playful around Argent. Maybe it's because their relationship started with Glitch in the driver's seat. Glitch is effortless. Glitch doesn't have a lifetime of trauma dragging her down.

Kayla stops just short of Argent, but the woman is not pleased with that. She closes the distance, pressing a kiss to Kayla's cheek, another to the corner of her mouth, and then, finally, a proper kiss.

Kayla can't contain her smile, brushing a lock of silver hair away from Argent's cheek. She is quite aware that Ricardo is still there, no doubt staring. Not for the first time, Kayla wonders if it bothers him - how close they became. How quickly.

But Ricardo isn't a jealous man - never has been.

"I'd just like to point out that she never greets me like that, and we've been off-and-on for ten years," Ricardo tells Argent, breaking the moment.

"Umm, eight years' worth of _off_ ," Kayla reminds him with a pointed glare. "And we never officially dated, anyway."

"As you like to remind me at an alarming rate," Ricardo smirks, not taking the bait.

Argent leans into Kayla's side, getting them back on track. "I know what makes her tick, that's why."

Kayla tries not to tense under the weight of the words, the hidden threat wrapped up in a teasing tone.

_she's going to betray you_

Kayla blinks away the thought, tries to relax under Argent’s arm looped around her waist. A little squeeze, no claws, and then Argent is moving toward the kitchen. She goes on tiptoes to steal a kiss from Ricardo as she does, then disappears - in search of a drink, no doubt.

Ricardo glances at Kayla, and Kayla smirks. "You look guilty."

"You gave me shit for even looking at other people before." Matter of fact - not accusing, not defensive.

"Yeah, when I was twenty and stupid," she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. "And it's different now."

"I can see that," he chuckles, having the sense to look sheepish. "It's just...weird. You being soft. Angie being soft."

"Are you complaining?"

"God, no."

Kayla bites down on her lower lip to keep from laughing. Damnit, she knew this was a bad idea. Too complicated. Too many strings. Too risky.

And comfortable. Why does this feel good? Feel right?

"Hey," Ricardo murmurs, coming closer. He has that little smile he gets when he's planning to be completely unguarded, terrifyingly earnest. It usually involves more alcohol, but his beer seems mostly untouched, more for something to do with his hands.

This should trouble Kayla, set off alarm bells, but it doesn't. Argent has cooled the mood by just being here. Dampened Kayla's temper and Ricardo's intensity.

Kayla closes the small distance between them. He thinks she's going to kiss him, but she stops short. She takes his bottle from his fingers, stealing a sip, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for Argent to save her from this moment of weakness. Waiting for her terror to spike, his static mind too much of an unknown.

"You look happy."

Kayla's brow furrows, lips pursing. "I'm finally relaxing, don't ruin my mood."

He holds up his hands, grin widening. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Sure," Kayla snorts. She takes another drink before stepping into him. He's so warm, radiating heat.

Ricardo doesn't push his luck. Instead of teasing her -or worse still, _complimenting_ her- he ducks down for a kiss.

He's learning.

* * *

**Ricardo**.

He's been waiting for things to become uncomfortable. He's been waiting for Kayla to bristle or Angie to say something a little too sharp. But Angie and Kayla taunt and tease one another, effortless.

(It confuses Ricardo more than anything, but it makes him smile, too, and that feels like enough.)

He just wants to be happy. For Kayla to be happy.

And, weird as it seems, Angie is who makes Kayla happy. Playful, looking younger. Drinking wine, letting Ricardo tell a few old stories, prompting Angie to regale her with more recent ones.

 _(Preferably ones that will embarrass Sparkles,_ Kayla added. Angie smirked, having a few already loaded in the metaphorical chamber.)

A tiny part of him envies Angie for how easy it is between her and Kayla. Wonders how she did it…and how he could never manage it.

Baggage. There's so much of it between them. So much time together, so much time apart. It was never easy for them. Not once she stopped being Sidestep and started being Kayla.

There isn't any of that between Kayla and Angie. They've never fought together, bled together. Kayla never died on her, upending everything, destroying, tearing.

_gun between her teeth, eyes blinded, tear-filled. the struggle. the energy caster going off and then falling to the ground. charge's moment of inattention, sidestep breaking free, diving for the window.  
_

_too slow too slow always too fucking slow_

Angie's leaning across the coffee table toward him. "Hey. You feeling okay?"

"You better not have given us food poisoning," Kayla warns, sipping her wine.

"Nah, just need some air," he awkwardly grins, covering it with a cough. "The smoke radiating from Kitty is going to my head."

" _Kitty_?" Angie looks much too interested in the old nickname.

Kayla is less interested in that, glaring at Ricardo. "I'm not radiating smoke, old man, you just can't keep up anymore." Kayla finishes her glass of wine as if that proves a point. Angie leans over to refill it.

"Work out with me tomorrow morning, and we'll see which of us taps out first." Ricardo raises a challenging brow at Kayla, gets a begrudging look of surrender in response. Kayla is good in short bursts, but stamina was always her downfall. Still is, evidently.

With neither woman quipping back, he mentally tallies another verbal win, continuing toward the balcony.

" _A_ _lways_ gets the last word," Angie quietly grumbles, trying to keep him from hearing her. No luck, because he does. He also hears Kayla's snort, the sympathetic clink of her glass against Angie's coffee mug.

Ricardo grins. Despite how weird it all is, how he doesn't understand what they are or could be… he feels like it might be enough.

* * *


	7. Birthday, pt 1 | Ricardo/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo and Kayla spend the night reminiscing. (Part I)

* * *

**2021**

* * *

_  
What are you doing tonight?_

Kayla glares at the words, frowning so hard she might have added a wrinkle to her brow. Ricardo. Of course. Trust him not to let a single Friday night go by without trying to drag her into trouble. 

She returns her attention to the suit of armour in front of her. There are a few more things to take care of before it's running at peak, but not enough that she needs to overwork. Glitch's next outing is Tuesday night - a 'fundraiser' that is less about the environment and more about being a cover for funnelling dark money into PACs.

So, Kayla has more than enough time to take a break, but she shouldn't. She should stay away. 

(The kiss at the hospital was stupid, spur of the moment, done without thought, laced with guilt. It was an accident. She got too wrapped up at the moment.)

 _Kitty?  
_ _Come on, don't leave me hanging_

Kayla purses her lips, staring at the screen. It's like staring down a loaded weapon. 

(She should have gotten rid of the damn phone months ago. When things began to get too close, too real. The second she gave him the number, even.)

 _Busy  
_ _What did you have in mind_

_So are you busy or are you curious_

_Why can't I be both_

_I happened to remember a pact we made…_

_Pass_

_You don't even know what I'm talking about_

_Anything involving a pact or the old days is enough to know you're up to something_

_Fair_

That's it. Nothing else. Kayla rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, furious at herself for actually being curious. She curses Ricardo for his ability to pull her into his bullshit no matter how hard she tries to get away.

(Is she trying? Is she really?)

_Public?_

_My place  
_ _Just you and me_

 _Fine.  
_ _Jackass._

She knows Ricardo is grinning at his phone. That stupid grin, too pleased. 

Kayla returns her phone to the workshop desk, looking at her reflection in Glitch's mirrored mask. Such an idiot. Why can't she stay away?

She doesn't want to. But she should. The only thing she can give Ricardo now is more pain...and maybe a body to bury this time around. 

* * *

The apartment door opens, and the smell hits Kayla like a fist. Ricardo has been cooking, the scent flooding across her senses as she walks into the flat. "Fuck's sake, that smells amazing."

"Recognise it?" he teases, closing the door and locking up behind her. 

"Maybe? Is it a tía Elena original?"

"No." His grin widens a bit, heading for the kitchen. Kayla kicks off her shoes before following, excited despite herself. Food is one of Ricardo's specialities, and Kayla is more than willing to be his taste-tester. 

"It's an old memory."

"What are you up to?" Kayla gives his back a discerning glare, not trusting the situation. He sounds too excited, which means there's a reveal coming.

" _Dios mío_ , Kayla. Just sit down, have a drink, relax." As if to punctuate his request, he reaches for a pitcher of -

"Margaritas?" Kayla snorts, watching him pour a glass for her. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"You, as always," he teases, pushing it toward her. The salt shards on the rim glisten in the light. "Is it working?"

"I'm hard to please," she admits, sipping. And, of course, it's delicious. Damned Ricardo. "It's really good," she admits before he can ask - higher praise than usual, but not quite the level it deserves. 

She has an image to protect, after all.  
  


* * *

Dinner is a bigger affair than she expected - shrimp tacos with the perfect level of heat that makes Kayla's eyes mist, savoury chorizo empanadas, nopales salad, fresh-baked tortilla chips, pico de gallo…

And then Kayla realises what is happening. She's in the middle of taking a bite from her empanada when the déjà vu hits like a train. "That weekend trip to Mexico."

Ricardo's smile spreads slowly and with no sign of stopping. Soon he's showing teeth, the skin around his eyes crinkling up with glee. "Was wondering if you'd remember."

Kayla's face sours - she almost hadn't. Ten years back, after a roughing up that gave Charge a rest-order, they went to Mexico. Just the two of them, just for the weekend. Saturday night found them in a dilapidated cantina, drunk on margaritas and shovelling food into their faces.

She hadn't thought about that night in ages. Not since...

Huh. When was the last time? Why does it all seem so long ago, so false, so much like a dream? It's so far away - those feelings. Those memories.

"So what is this?" she asks, clearing her throat. She's suddenly too full to finish her empanada. "What's your angle?"

"No angle," he chides her, pushing her margarita closer to her hand. "Now stop being weird and enjoy yourself."

Kayla rolls her eyes, begrudgingly raising her margarita glass; Ortega clinks it with the neck of his beer bottle, his smile lighting up the room.

* * *


	8. Birthday, pt 2 | Ricardo/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo and Kayla spend the night reminiscing.

* * *

They moved to the balcony so Kayla could smoke. Ricardo watches her finish a cigarette, his eyes heavy enough to suffocate. She's turned away, leaning over the railing, looking out over the street.

 _Pretending_ to.

She's actually staring at the ground. At this height, Kayla doesn't feel the urge to jump, the intrusive longing for that plummet. It isn't far enough to do more than break a bone or two at worst - the whispers don't want pain, they want the end.

"Ten years ago," she says, voice softer than she intends. She clears her throat, tries again. "Was it ten years ago today?"

"It was."

Kayla finishes her cigarette, smashing the stub into the ashtray that exists solely for her. She sighs at that, turning to face him. To see his face. She needs that - static mind, too many unknowns, why add to them? "So that means…"

"Today's a special day."

"It's not, though." She meant to sound harsh, but it comes out sad. Damnit. "It's just make-believe."

"Well," he says after a long pull from his beer bottle. "If you tell me your real birthday then we won't have to play pretend tonight."

"I don't have a birthday."

It's the same response as it was every time he asked before. Back then, she'd say it with a little chuckle or a playful simper. It was a self-deprecating joke, a wink to her absurd need for privacy.

It doesn't come out the same now. Right now it's raw, and her voice doesn't carry any hint of playfulness.

They're on shaky ground now. Tumultuous territory. It's a common enough situation for them, but this feels like one of the _big ones_. One of those fault lines that can tear everything apart.

"Then, today is your birthday." His voice is so soft. So supportive. Christ, Kayla doesn't want this side of him. This side of him...it doesn't make sense. It never did, even back then.

Right?

He's still talking. Kayla misses whatever came first, but catches up enough to hear "-and I intend to keep the promise I made then."

"You didn't promise me anything." Ricardo raises a brow at her, a nudge to think a little harder. She glares at him. "What?"

"Cigarettes weren't the only things you were smoking that night."

Kayla's eyes widen at that. She ducks away before he can see the heat rising to her cheeks. Her fingers find her lighter. Cigarettes. Yes, something to do with her hands. "We're a little old for smoking joints on a rusty playground, aren't we?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "But not too old to share one on my couch."

Kayla looks over her shoulder, studying him. Deducing. Assessing risk. She removes the unlit cigarette from her mouth, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why don't I trust you?"

"Probably a lot of reasons I haven't apologised for," he concedes. He's still smirking, though. "So?"

"You're the worst," she mutters, pushing past him and into the apartment.

* * *

"I still can't believe you're going to sit here and smoke two joints and you won’t let me have the occasional cigarette."

"Easier to get pot smoke out of stuff."

"There's no way that's true," Kayla snorts, rolling over onto her side, wincing in the light. Ricardo is laid out on the couch, a hand dangling down. It had been brushing through her hair - now it's nearly taken out her eye.

"It is," he grins, turning his head to look at her. A finger pokes her between the brows, making her huff and roll away. "Come back," he grins.

"Not if you're going to prod me," she complains. She gets to her feet -a little steadier than expected, so that is nice- and shoves at Ricardo's legs, sweeping them off of the cushions.

"Oww," he mutters with a good-natured grin, adjusting himself to a sitting position. He doesn't give her more room, though, staying close.

Kayla hates that she doesn't mind. She hates that she leans into him, not meaning to but also not smart enough to stop the motion. Self-sabotage.

"By the way," Ricardo begins, his voice too innocent.

"I _knew_ you were up to something!"

"I found some pictures the other day…"

"Pictures?" Kayla repeats. Her blood goes a little cold. Pictures of what?

"From Mexico. Some others, too, but-"

"You told me you deleted them!" Kayla snaps, smacking his arm and making him wince, rubbing the spot.

"I did… I just backed them up first."

"You're such an asshole," Kayla says, feeling weirdly betrayed and also...weirdly okay. It didn't matter in the long run. Pictures or not, the Special Directive found her. Photos or not, Ricardo didn't come for her.

 _You thought you had friends?  
__You think they cared for you?  
__Loved you?  
__You aren't real, and everyone can tell.  
__They might not_ know _, but on an instinctual level, they can_ feel _it.  
__You're wrong. Not one of them._

Kayla swallows, looking up to meet Ricardo's careful expression. "Can I see?"

He softens. Of course he does. "Just a second, let me get the camera."

That's right - that stupid camera of his. It was an old clunky thing, one that was harder for him to short out. One that made Kayla roll her eyes, a little embarrassed, a bit envious of his confidence.

He sits beside her again. The camera screen is small, so she leans in, face pressing against Ricardo's shoulder. The screen comes to life on a picture of them.

 _So young._ That's Kayla’s first thought. She was rounder in the cheeks, her eyes wide and wondering. Smiling, visibly embarrassed, but happy. Ricardo is clean-shaven and smirking, all smoulder despite the bruises, despite the stitches across his forehead.

"Christ, we looked good," Kayla accidentally says aloud.

It drags a surprised laugh from Ricardo. "We still do."

"Speak for yourself." She can feel him preparing to argue, so she cuts him off. "Next."

He dutifully scrolls. Pictures of that carefree weekend go by, and Kayla feels a lump rising in her throat. She doesn't remember it like this, not like the story these pictures tell.

_she can't stop smiling, so she keeps turning away from him. she drags her too-big sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose to hide her flush, the sleeve of her hoodie covering her grin.  
_

But not well enough because here are the pictures. Sidestep with her sun-bleached hair, hanging choppily from a self-inflicted haircut. She was still fresh, still stunned by the beauty and others' feelings rushing around her.

So long ago. How did ten years turn that into _this_? Smoke-scented and scarred to hell, so fucking tired. So pale.

 _'you are beautiful.'  
__she_ _doesn't glare because this is Before. she grins a little, turns away. adjusts her glasses. 'flattery doesn't work on me, sparkles.'  
__'what about ice cream?'  
__and that teases a wide grin from her, one she doesn’t try to hide._

"Kayla?"

She swallows and shakes her head, looking away from him. Her eyes are misting - she can't have that. "I'm fine."

He puts the camera onto the coffee table, reaching out for her hand. She jumps a little at the contact, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she focuses on each breath.

"Are you okay?"

She swallows, waiting until she's sure that she is in control. "Seeing that... It's like that was someone else. Someone who…" she licks her suddenly dry lips. "She knew how to care about people. She knew people loved her. But I'm...I'm not her anymore. I can't feel the way she did. I broke."

Kayla thinks he might try to tell her that she's still that girl. That the girl is still inside her. That she just has to let it out. Let someone in.

But he doesn't. He squeezes Kayla’s hand and murmurs, "Broken doesn't mean it can't be patched."

But it does. It does if the break is too bad, if it's shattered.

Kayla forces a smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He turns into it; Kayla moves to his mouth, giving in for a moment.

"Happy birthday," Ricardo murmurs against her lips.

Kayla kisses him to shut him up.

It works.

* * *


	9. Hairdressing | Julia&m!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CJ and Julia spend a little time bonding over rum and hair products.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcoming my new Sidestep to join this fray... Meet CJ Barton. He's Julia's best friend (and secretly super into Chen).

* * *

**2010**

* * *

Julia opens the door with too much enthusiasm, face softening the moment she lays eyes on CJ. "Look who it is."

"Were you expecting someone else?" CJ hums, brushing past Julia with no fanfare. It's better not to give Julia more opportunities to make a scene.

"I was expecting someone with a bottle of booze," Julia faux-pouts as she closes the door and follows. She has a satin robe over her underwear, the black lace peeking out from the loose sash. "I thought we were pre-gaming."

"You sound like you don't have a liquor cabinet full of bottles more expensive than my rent." CJ gives her a perfunctory glance-over as she flows past. He raises a brow, surprised by the colour choice. "Not going for white tonight? I'm surprised."

"And why is that?" Julia calls from the kitchen, no doubt pouring a long line of tequila shots.

CJ collapses onto the couch with a little groan. His hip still hurts from sparring yesterday. Julia had gotten a bit too _enthusiastic_ , hadn't realised CJ wasn't recovered from a throw, knocked him too hard. Not a big deal, of course, but it smarts. The hip and his ego.

"Because you've been tanning so much, why not show it off?" CJ shouts back. "Surprised you don't look like leather yet."

"Hey!" she laughs, pushing through the kitchen with two shooters and a bottle of rum. "Don't pretend - you could learn a little something from my skincare routine."

CJ could play into her barb, could demand to know what, exactly, she meant by that. But he doesn't want to deal with that right now, so he focuses elsewhere. "No tequila?"

"Makes me too horny," Julia dismisses with a handwave. "And if you aren't there to keep me in check, I might make out with that new corpo-hero in front of everyone. ...What was his name?"

"No idea, and no, I'm not going."

"A girl can dream." She pours the alcohol, spilling a bit in the process. The droplets wobble on the table's surface, reflecting light. CJ gets lost in it for a moment, thinking.

Could he? Could he go to an event like that?

Cameras flashing.

Face in the papers.

No.

CJ pushes it aside and grabs one of the glasses, tossing it back with a wince.

Julia hides her grin behind her glass. "Don't get too tipsy; you're still in charge of doing my hair." CJ grunts as if she twisted his arm into this favour, unwilling to admit he's happy to do it. "Don't complain," Julia continues, "it's the least you can do, leaving me to my own devices all night."

"Steel will be there." CJ is proud that his voice comes out neutral. No hidden emotions here; none at all.

"Ugh," Julia groans, pouring two more drinks. They clink, down, and then get to work.

Julia lets her long, freshly washed hair swing free from its towel. She sits between CJ's knees, and CJ reaches into his bag to produce the necessary tools for his important job.

He hasn't tried something this complex - has never needed to, the way the Rangers' media team fusses over every aspect of Charge's appearance. But not tonight. Tonight, she told them she wanted something unique. Something personal.

CJ tries not to feel a little proud at that. He tries not to feel that familiar ache of belonging, the sweet pain of being loved - of having a best friend who would do anything for him.

This wasn't supposed to be his life. This is stolen. Not his.

But he's going to cling to it for as long as he can, even if that means staying home instead of going to an exclusive rooftop Christmas party.

He works his hands through her hair, the serum on his fingers smoothing the tiny flyaways. He twists sections, preparing them for the curling iron. Not that her hair needs help holding a curl.

"Feels nice," Julia murmurs. CJ can't see her face, but he can hear the lethargy in her tone. He smiles to himself, giving her scalp a little massage and chuckling at her moan.

"You should be a hairdresser," Julia murmurs.

"High praise considering I've never done anything more complex than a French braid."

"You haven't?" Julia snorts. "Wish I'd known before I went to bat for you. Christian was pissed when I told him he wasn't getting to touch my hair anymore."

"You should never go to bat for me," CJ confirms. The curling iron warm enough, he begins to pin the top half of her hair away. "Hold still unless you want me burning your neck."

"So I shouldn't pour another round?"

CJ considers before putting the curling iron aside. "Okay, _one_ more."

* * *

The result is...breathtaking. CJ himself is so pleased that he nearly tears up. That could be more to do with six shots of high-quality rum in his empty belly, to be fair.

Julia looks flawless.

CJ walks around her, analysing from all angles. "I was a little sceptical about a black dress," he admits, "but I get it."

"Right?" Julia chuckles, twisting a bit, viewing herself from all sides. She smooths a hand over the fabric as she does. "I saw it and had to have it."

"Good call."

"Of course it was a good call - _I_ made it," she snarks with a wink in the mirror.

CJ reaches out, taking a lock of curls, and tugging. Just enough to get his point across, not to hurt.

Even so, Julia has to be dramatic. "Oww!" she laughs. "Don't ruin my hair, or the stylists won't let you do it again."

" _Oh no_ , less wageless work."

"If money's the issue, bill us."

CJ rolls his eyes and adjusts a few curls, tucking strands into the messy braided crown. She looks godlike, strong and proud, the hair and dress doing nothing to make her less fierce. Less beautiful.

She turns to smile at him - the soft one, the most real one CJ has ever seen. "You really should be a hairdresser. Think of all the shitty kids you could overcharge for prom updos."

CJ can't help but wrinkle his nose. "Gross."

"And tug their hair when they annoy you."

I would never tug a paying customer's hair," CJ replies, fondly adjusting the dainty diamond necklace at the hollow of Julia's throat.

"Bill me."

CJ glances up, meeting her gaze. There's that concern - the worry that her best friend is living in poverty _(which he is)._ That she's caught sight of scars on an exposed wrist. That there might be more than she's prepared for under those layers. That she cares enough to want to know anyway.

Maybe he could tell her.

Maybe someday.

Not now.

"CJ?" The concern deepens. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he forces a smile. It feels real to him, and she doesn't immediately react in the negative, so he thinks he manages. "Sorry, just...thinking."

"About being my plus-one?" Julia winks.

"No," he half-lies; that _has_ been on his mind tonight. "About how you need to keep up on those argan oil treatments."

"I do!" she squeals, immediately grinning. "Don't even try with me, Charleston."

CJ snorts. "My name is definitely not Charleston."

Julia's shoulders deflate. "It sounded better in my head."

"Hmm."

"I will figure it out eventually," Julia threatens. Promises.

"You really won't," CJ calls after her as she sweeps out of the bathroom.

Her phone rings, interrupting their banter, and she answers with a smooth, "Yeah, I'm finishing up. Be down in five."

She hangs up and groans, rolling her neck to release some returned tension. "Ride's here. You sure you don't want to crash this thing?" She's already heading toward the door, knowing his answer. He's pretty sure she only asks out of stubbornness, on some undying ember of hope that he might say yes.

"Not tonight," he smiles. He wonders why he said it like that. Like he might have a different answer at some point. But that's.impossible. He'll never be safe enough for that. Never be strong enough.

At the door, Julia slides into a pair of heels; CJ's trainers slip on without a fuss, leaving the two of them in the doorway, headed for very different evenings.

"Don't make out with the corpo-hero," CJ reminds her with a little smirk. "But if you do, please _God_ have someone get a picture of Steel's head exploding."

"Cruel, but fair," Julia smirks, locking her door and walking with CJ until they're on the street. "Have a good night, okay?"

And there's that hint of pity lingering behind her eyes. CJ hates that look - it makes him feel guilty. "I've got an entire pint of fudge ice cream at home, so I promise you that I will."

Julia hugs him; CJ returns the squeeze. He never expected to receive _kind_ physical contact - he certainly never expected to enjoy it. To have touch become a.comfort.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Maybe," CJ smiles. "Have fun."

Julia gives him a little wave, climbing into the back of a limo loitering on the street, causing traffic and angry honking. CJ watches the limo start to pull away, his smile lingering.

His smiles have been doing that recently - lingering.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, CJ jogs to the bus stop, feet light, thoughts even moreso. 

* * *


	10. Meetings, pt 1 | f!Mortum&f!Puppet, f!Mortum/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayla develops a sudden and unexpected crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language. Weird au-ish thing I wrote a bit ago.

* * *

**2021**

* * *

  
It's Kayla's first time interacting with the larger villain community. She's nervous -because of course she is- but her worries slough away when she pulls on the mirrored mask. Kayla gets shoved to the back; Glitch emerges.

She strides to the casino doors without a hitch in her step. Languid, doing her damnedest to draw all eyes while looking effortless. She loves the attention, loves all of these eyes drinking in her gorgeous, shadowy armour, the mask reflecting the opulence. 

Glitch is ushered in. She waves off an attendant trying to catch her attention, going directly for the elevators.

 _Deep breath. This is easy. In and out. The_ elevator doors close behind her. _Alone in the lift, Kayla focuses on her breathing, calming it. This is fine._

The doors open - Glitch waits for a single beat before pushing off of the wall and striding into the milling crowd.

Glitch's analysis of the room comes to a quick end when she catches sight of _her_ \- the good doctor.

Glitch knew she'd be here, but there's something a bit unsettling about seeing Mortum through these eyes. Is the good doctor really that short? She always seemed taller as Eden, the cute little button that she is.

Glitch should avoid Dr Mortum. She should keep to the corners, wait until the security guard shuts off the power, stick to her plan.

It would be simple enough to avoid Mortum's notice. The good doctor is easily distracted when she's excited, and Glitch can practically taste her excitement in the air.

_Stay away. Dr Mortum is Eden's friend, not Kayla's. Certainly not Glitch's._

Glitch takes a detour to the bar, sneakily divests someone of their fresh drink, and then slips toward the good doctor.

"Deceptively small," Glitch notes, coming to Dr Mortum's shoulder - close enough that she can keep her volume down, but far enough to give Mortum her space.

Dr Mortum glances at Glitch, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. She doesn't look entirely surprised to see her - interesting. "Glitch."

"Doctor," Glitch greets, holding out the glass. "Drink?"

Mortum's left eyebrow arches. "Do you actually think I would accept a drink from you?"

"Why not?" Glitch chuckles, but she takes back the offered glass. "You've been good to me, and I've been good to you. Not to mention, we have a friend in common."

The good doctor's eyes narrow again. Struck a nerve - she doesn't like Glitch talking about Eden, it seems. Interesting. Sure, Eden's been a little... _critical_ at times. Maybe some passing comments about wanting to quit. But it was always harmless enough - more to do with stifled ambition than anything else.

And yet. And yet Mortum stands here with a look on her face that Eden has never seen. Something cold.

_This is much more hostile than Kayla could have expected._

"-some new political stunt, or are you here to buy?" Dr Mortum is asking, face carefully composed - icy and emotionless.

"I have interests outside of politics, Doctor," Glitch chides, keeping her pose unthreatening, conversational. "And tonight, I have my eye on a certain item. A little something that I might need your help with, in fact."

Aha, there it is. The slight widening of Dr Mortum's eyes, the way she focuses on the helmet, the way she is instantly and wholly intrigued. Her shift from a cautious woman into an insatiable academic. "Care to tell me which item I might have the pleasure of tinkering with?"

"Not yet, Doctor," Glitch chuckles, vocoder making it sharp, harsh. The intent seems to come across, though. "However, I would like to extend an olive branch-"

"What have you done that requires an olive branch?" Narrowed eyes again. If the dampeners weren't buzzing, Glitch would be able to tell what the good doctor's mind jumped to. Probably something to do with Eden.

 _Why is Kayla suddenly_ extra _jealous of er younger, prettier counterpart?_

"I'm guessing that you don't trust me."

"I don't trust anyone as a rule."

Glitch tilts her head a little, considering. Thoughts flit by - Kayla too eager, Glitch too drunk on how fun this is, standing with Mortum, trying to read her. "Here is my proposal," Glitch begins. _What are you doing?_ "I'm going to get your gun for you."

Dr Mortum's gaze doesn't waver, but Glitch can tell she's gauging the room around them. Any eyes or ears on them? Mortum seems to think not because she asks, "You are going to buy my gun for me?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that," Mortum repeats. Is that a little twitch at the corner of her mouth? Was that a hint of amusement?

_Christ, that dress looks fantastic on her._

Focus _. Focus._ "But," Glitch continues before Kayla can fuck them up with her weakness for dangerous women, "I need you to do something for me."

"Naturally," the woman sighs.

"I need you to bid on it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You need to bid on it. You don't have to win it - I'll take care of that bit."

Dr Mortum is not pleased, but she isn't reacting as poorly as she could. "If I lose that gun-"

"I can assure you that you won't."

"-then you will owe me, and you will owe me deeply. I am not someone to whom you want to owe favours."

"On the long list of things I'm willing to do, Doctor, hurting you isn't one of them."

_Oh, fuck. Abort. Abort abort abort._

Dr Mortum grimaces. "You are...unexpected."

"You don't like unexpected."

"I loathe it."

The auction is close to starting. They need to separate - they've been talking for too long. No one seems to be paying attention, but it's still too risky for both of them.

"Bid. Don't win."

"You had better come through, Glitch."

"When have I let you down?"

"When you let my best friend get hurt in your need for a spectacle."

"I love Eden like a sister," Glitch says truthfully. "I will never let her get hurt if I can help it." A little less accurate, but still on the right side of the issue.

Dr Mortum's expression doesn't shift. There's no way to tell if she believes her. "Don't lose my gun."

"You have my word."

They part, Glitch covering her escape with some sightseeing. She's careful to avoid the thing she's here for, glancing over it with little interest before moving on.

Slow and steady. This is child's play.

* * *

A little less straightforward than child's play, as it turns out. But neither here nor there, Glitch escapes with the regenerator and Dr Mortum's gun. It took more diplomacy than she intended -and with _Lady Argent_ , of all people- but she got what she wanted.

Again.

Christ, this feels good.

Bo drives her back to the base. Glitch sheds her skin in the store's workroom. Kayla emerges, stepping directly into the shower, her brain a blissed buzz.

She got what she went there for, and then some. Argent as an ally - or at least not an outright enemy. Dr Mortum's gun.

Kayla finishes with her shower, feeling raw and exposed. She dresses as quickly as she can, but the sensation doesn't leave, crawling like bugs across her arms. Following tattoos. Following scars.

Dr Mortum. She's probably waiting by her phone, pissed off, annoyed, worried, hopeful.

Kayla thinks about climbing into Eden now so that she can reassure Mortum. But she keeps her cool. She cleans up her armour and stashes everything, scribbles a note for Marcia that she won't be in tomorrow, and then leaves.

She hijacks a car, the driver helpfully dropping her outside of a business a few blocks from her apartment. She takes a roundabout path even though she's sure that no one has followed her.

And then she's home, sliding into bed, slipping into Eden.

Eden feels a little strange, but Kayla ignores it. She sits up, reaching for her phone. While passing into the bathroom, she sends a message to Mortum.

_I hear you met a friend of mine_

_So I did, mon amie.  
_ _Did their night go well?_

_Perfectly  
_ _We should have drinks when you're free. I have a gift for you._

_Why not tonight?_

_Eager to see me, or your present?_

_I am quite interested in my present, yes... But I am always happy to see you  
_

_You'll give a girl ideas, talking like that. |_

**No**. Nonono, _why_ did she type that? Kayla deletes it before she can accidentally send the damn thing. Eden's manicured thumbs are trembling a little with a spike of adrenaline.

What the hell was that?

 _Eden_ isn't interested in Dr Mortum. _Eden_ is just a face, a necessary evil. She doesn't have _emotions,_ especially not _attraction._

So does that mean…?

 _No._ Kayla can't be interested in Dr Mortum. It doesn't make sense - she never felt this way as Eden, not until just now. Not until they met face to face.

Well. As face to face as Glitch can meet.

Kayla stares at the screen for a moment before trusting herself enough to type.

_I'll come by tonight with a fancy bottle of wine and your present._

_I cannot express how much this means._

_You sap  
_ _See you tonight_

* * *


	11. Meetings, pt 2 | f!Mortum&f!Puppet, f!Mortum/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eden and Mortum talk.

* * *

**Dr Mortum**.

Dr Mortum tries to keep her mind distracted while she waits for Eden, but she is failing. So, Glitch came through. The mysterious little nuisance kept their word.

Why did she trust them? It's not like her. Very out of character. Very stupid.

The proximity alarm notifies her that Eden's car is entering the complex. Mortum takes a deep breath and wrings her anxious hands until they hurt - until she has complete control over them.

Eden sweeps in, her smile peaky, eyes a little too sharp. Manic.

Something is wrong. What did Glitch do?

Mortum forces herself to remain calm, a smile finding its way to her lips. " _Mon amie, finalement_. I was beginning to worry."

"Sorry," Eden winces, glancing at the dainty diamond watch on her wrist. "The day got away from me. But!" she exclaims, hoisting the briefcase in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. "Presents!"

Eden's smile soothes Dr Mortum's anxiety, her muscles unclenching, shoulders relaxing. "I do love getting gifts," Mortum chuckles, reaching for the briefcase. Fingers a little shaky, Mortum opens the case and releases a sharp breath.

"We good?" Eden asks, obviously worried at the exhale.

" _Très bien,_ " Mortum runs a fond finger over the gun, enraptured for a moment. Eden wanders away, but Mortum can't pull her attention from the gun. She'd always hoped that this day would come, but now that it's here… she isn't sure what to do now.

" _Christ's sake_."

The curse comes from Mortum's small kitchenette. Mortum chuckles, assuming Eden is, again, struggling to open a wine bottle. Mortum gives the gun another once-over before closing the case, tucking it safely away.

"What mess have you made tonight?" Mortum chides as she joins Eden, gently hip-checking her aside so she can take over.

"I swear to God, it's your corkscrew's fault," Eden mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. "I open wine bottles just fine at home."

"Yes, I am sure the problem is the corkscrew and not your tiny little arms."

"Excuse you; I am stronger than I look." At that, Mortum glances over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "I am," Eden insists.

Something odd happens when she does that. Something passes behind her eyes - just a flicker. Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smirk - an expression she hasn't seen on Eden before.

"I am sure you are," Mortum murmurs, mind whirring. Something is off. Something is different. Eden isn't looking at her the same way. On edge. Close to a panic? Pupils slightly dilated - drugs? Doubtful; Eden's very-blatant downfalls are gambling and whiskey. Mortum isn't sure she'd be able to hide a drug addiction.

Eden looks away first. She clears her throat, arranging her face into normalcy. And then she says, "So you met my boss."

Dr Mortum uncorks the wine, pouring it into the glasses Eden fetched. "I did."

"And?"

"And what?" Dr Mortum chuckles, turning around to hand one of the glasses to Eden. The redhead takes the glass, her eyes never leaving Mortum's face. Analysing.

"What did you think of them?"

"That is an odd question," Mortum hums, sipping. What is happening behind Eden's eyes?

"Is it?"

"They were...unexpected. Though they kept their promise and I kept a large sum of money, so I cannot complain."

That answer doesn't change Eden's expression, but Mortum gets the sense that it wasn't what she was hoping for. "I was just wondering if meeting them in person made you feel a little more...comfortable with them. With me working for them."

"You were never concerned about how I regarded them before."

"True," Eden shrugs, knocking back the glass of wine, finishing it.

"What are you not saying, _mon amie?_ "

"So much," she chuckles. She pours a second glass, giving it a similar treatment to the first.

"Did your boss have thoughts about me?" Dr Mortum bites, too curious about what has Eden so on edge. So strange. It's almost as if…

"Oh, yes, they had many thoughts." Eden grabs the wine bottle and motions for Mortum to follow. Once they've settled on the couch, Eden filling Mortum's glass, the redhead murmurs, "Do you want to hear a few, or would that be unprofessional?"

"It would be _very_ unprofessional, _mon amie._ " She pauses for a moment, lips twitching into a small smile. "Though we aren't working right now, are we?"

Eden smirks. "They liked you."

"Oh?" Mortum doesn't react other than to sip her wine and settle into the couch. "Strange. I wasn't exactly warm."

"They like a challenge."

"Their track record can attest to that," Mortum concedes, frowning a little.

Eden tops off Mortum's glass, pouring the little remaining into her own. "About that other project my boss mentioned?"

Dr Mortum is no longer sunk into the cushions. She sits up, and everything else gets shoved to the back of her mind. "Do you have it?"

"God, no," Eden grins, finishing off her glass, setting it aside. "It's above my pay grade. The boss wants to hand it off to you themselves. In public," she adds before Mortum can spiral into a paranoia cyclone.

"Masked?"

Eden tries to smile, but it becomes a grimace. Another unfamiliar expression. "Against their better judgement...no."

Mortum's throat has gone dry. What is Glitch's game? She shouldn't trust this. This is too much change all at once.

"Where?"

"So you _are_ willing to meet them?"

"You know I abhor unknowns." That isn't an answer, so Mortum acquiesces. "I am."

"I'll get back to you with the address once they pass it along. It'll be public - probably a restaurant." Eden glances at her watch, sighing. "I should go. I need to meet up with a guy."

"A guy?" Mortum repeats, raising a brow.

"Work-related," Eden apologetically shrugs, getting to her feet.

"And you're meeting him with a buzz?"

"Mmhmm. The only way I can deal with some of these mouth-breathers." She winks at Mortum's laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. She lingers for a moment - Mortum's heart speeds up, confusion sparking.

And then the redhead murmurs, "She thinks you're absolutely brilliant, by the way."

Mortum starts, pulling back to meet Eden's gaze. "Who?"

Eden's blue eyes dance with amusement. "My boss." The willowy woman begins to retreat toward the door. She stops just before leaving, though, her voice echoing through the workshop, "You didn't hear this from me, but she also thinks you're hot."

" _Excuse-moi_?" Dr Mortum shouts, but Eden is gone with a blithe laugh.

* * *

**Kayla**.

The bar Kayla chose for her undoing is crowded enough that Dr Mortum shouldn't be concerned, but empty enough that a conversation wouldn't be overheard. Even so, Kayla hesitates on the street corner opposite, dreading her own decisions.

Her hands are clammy around the strap of her unfamiliar bag. She hates purses, but it is one of the easiest ways to transfer something without looking suspicious.

The traffic light changes; Kayla takes a deep breath, crossing the street. Christ, she's nervous. She's more worried right now than she was during her debut.

But Kayla is nothing if not stubborn. And stupid _-so_ stupid- so she pushes into the bar, brushing her hair away from her forehead as she scans the dimmed room.

Mortum is here, sitting in a shadowy booth. She's on her phone, distracted. Kayla wouldn't have expected her to be so blasé before meeting Glitch.

But the explanation comes when Kayla makes it closer. The good doctor's mind is a puddle of static. Nothing to grab onto. She's in public and mind-blind, so of course she'd be blasé.

Christ. Too late to back out now. Kayla's already closing in on the table, coming to a pause, taking a breath.

"Is this seat taken?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to Part III](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151706/chapters/68221773#workskin)   
> 


	12. Sick | Ricardo/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayla makes a phone call she doesn't want to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: vomit mention, strong language, chaotic sentence structure.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Kayla wakes up with a rattling cough that shakes her into a sitting position. Everything looks like it's underwater, wavering. Vertigo. Can't breathe.

Kayla pushes herself off of the bed, stumbles, smacks her arm against the doorframe, spins toward the bathroom.

She doesn't throw up, but she wishes she could so that the nausea passes. Instead of hanging onto the toilet, she's draped over the sink, forehead against the cold rim. Cold and steady.

She inhales and exhales, coughs a bit, nearly topples from dizziness.

Fuck's sake, what is happening?

Her skin feels like it's blistering, too hot. Burning. She should be setting fire to the wooden cabinet.

"Shut up," she hisses to herself. Hearing her voice helps. Noise. Keep talking. "Fever. Go to the pharmacy, get some meds, sleep."

She looks into the mirror. Puffy eyes, swollen nose - everything glows with a rosy sheen. She looks like she's cooking alive.

There was something...that reminds her of something. Something just out of reach.

Wobbly legs carry her back to the bedroom. She picks clothes at random. A pair of leggings, a pair of sweatpants. Long-sleeved undershirt. An old band tee from a thrift store - too big but so soft. Her hoodie.

God, she's cooking. Burning up. Christ.

She forgets socks but shoves her feet into her trainers anyway. She can't make herself care; the pharmacy is only two blocks away.

The bedroom looks too far, but how hard could two blocks in the middle of the night be? Fresh air would be good. Yes.

Kayla takes the stairs, clinging to the railing. She doesn't want to tempt the elevator when the world is already twirling.

So nauseous. Oh, Christ.

She stops on the landing between the third and second floors, eyes closed. Why is she doing this? Just go back upstairs. Sleep it off.

But she's burning alive. She can feel the heat radiating from her skull. She can't make it back up the stairs, anyway, so might as well go down. It's got to be cooler out there than this fucking stairwell.

Kayla doesn't remember making it outside. She doesn't even recall walking the two blocks. All she knows is that she's standing outside of a closed pharmacy, the glass door warm where her forehead leans against it.

Closed. It's three in the morning. She's a fucking idiot. And now she's an idiot who is having trouble breathing. Whose knees want to buckle.

She fumbles in her hoodie pocket for her cigarettes - perfect response to trouble breathing, but she's close to a panic attack and doesn't know what else to do.

No cigarettes. Left them on the breakfast bar.

No wallet, either.

But her cell phone. She grapples with it, fingers shaking. A few missed texts from Ricardo asking if she wanted to _grab dinner later_. That was twelve hours ago. How long has she been out?

Kayla gnaws on her lower lip, tearing at the skin. So warm. Christ, why is it so hot? She's in too many clothes. Even her skin is too much. Cooking.

She presses her thumb to Ricardo's number, heavily leaning against the pharmacy's bricks.

He answers, groggy and concerned. "Kayla, what's-"

"I need help," she admits, the words whispering through her bleeding lips. Gnawing. Cooking.

"Where are you?" He's already moving, fabric rustling, getting dressed, phone crackling with static. Anxious.

"Outside the pharmacy."

"What pharmacy?"

 _The one by my place_.

"Kayla? Which pharmacy?"

Her frown hurts. Makes her head spin. "The one by my place," she repeats.

"I don't -- are you hurt?"

"Sick." It's so hard to talk. So hard to move her mouth.

"Okay, okay, got it," he mumbles, sounding overwhelmed. "I'll be there soon. Stay there."

"Couldn't move even if I wanted to," she tries to joke. The words come out in a mumble, half-garbled.

"Kayla, seriously, stay put." And then he's hung up, leaving Kayla alone in the dark.

Not alone. There are so many people passing by - more than there should be. Kayla redirects the furtive glances even though it makes her head swim to the point she has to sit on the ground, cradling her face.

The world is spinning. All she can do is create a little bubble of anonymity for herself. Breathe.

She isn't sure how long she manages it. She isn't sure how long it takes before-

Hands on her. Can't read the mind. Static.

" _No_!" she shouts, trying to lash out. But the hands take her wrists, holding her in place. A voice. Scared? Familiar.

"Hey, Kayla, it's me," the voice soothes. Kayla can feel her crowd-control slipping, attention beginning to turn toward where she slumps. Where Ricardo is grabbing her.

"Shit," she whimpers, redoubling her effort. Too many people for so late. Why so many people? Why so many people but no one working in the fucking pharmacy?

"Car?" Kayla wheezes. Luckily, she doesn't have to elaborate. Ricardo helps her to her feet, letting her lean against him.

"Thank God I didn't bring the bike."

Kayla can't reply, can't do anything other than move her feet as little as possible and make others ignore them.

"Watch the curb," Ricardo cautions. "Here, let…"

* * *

The next thing Kayla knows, she's slumped against the window of Ricardo's car. They're in a parking lot, and Ricardo is calling her name. "Kayla, wake up. You have to take this."

"What?" She blinks. Where is she?

Parking lot. A pharmacy. Why is she…

Fever. Right. She has a fever.

She slowly pulls her face off of the window. Ricardo has his hand out, offering her a plastic measuring cup with dark liquid inside.

Kayla doesn't even hesitate. She should. She shouldn't trust anything anyone hands her, not if she can't see the source. Sometimes not even then.

But this is Ricardo. She can't read his mind, but she's pretty sure he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. Trick her.

Unless…

Unless he knows. Unless he saw her tattoos when he helped her to the car. Unless -

Her panic must be showing. Ricardo softens his voice, whispering, "It's just Nyquil."

Kayla's fingers shake when she accepts the small cup. She downs it, taking a chance, trusting him. He's looking at her like she's his world, too worried for masks. He doesn't know. He wouldn't look at her like this if he did.

She coughs on the taste, wincing. A bottle of water finds its way into her hand, and she greedily slurps at it, spilling more on her hoodie than what makes it into her mouth.

So hot. The water feels like it is boiling by the time it reaches her belly.

"Slow down," he cautions, hands hovering like restless birds. "You're gonna choke-"

On cue, Kayla gags. Drops the water bottle, sloshing liquid all over the nicely detailed floorboard. Ricardo curses, but he doesn't go for the bottle - he gently wipes Kayla's chin, grimacing. "Jesus, Kayla."

"Sorry," she mumbles. For so much. For all the lies. The little deceptions. Letting him get close. Stringing him along, tempting him with something she can never give him.

"Why didn't you call me sooner?"

She thinks she answers, but Ricardo keeps looking at her like she didn't. "Just wanted to sleep," she manages. "Thought it'd pass."

Ricardo curses. He doesn't bother with the water bottle - it's already spilt all over, so what's the point? "I'm taking you home with me."

"No," Kayla snaps, but it makes her head swim, gravity tilting. The medicine lingers on the back of her tongue, cloying. It makes her want to gag all over again, but she settles for a cough. "Wanna go home. My bed."

Ricardo wants to fight her on this, but he doesn't. He's a hero - he isn't about to argue with someone who can't even keep her head steady. "Fine, but I'm staying with you tonight."

"No, you're not."

"You either come to my place so I can make sure you don't wander the street, or I stay on your couch. Which is it?"

He knows the answer to that. She groans because she can't do anything else. "Mine."

Ricardo starts the car, the rumbling both soothing and nauseating. She keeps the contents of her stomach where they should be, closing her eyes, pressing her face against the window.

It's smudged with forehead grease. There might also be a bit of drool on the door. Add in the fact that half a water bottle is seeping into the stupidly-luxurious floor mat. Ricardo will have to do so much work on the car after this. All because of her.

* * *

She's roused from her half-sleep. Ricardo is gentle when he helps her out of the car. He tries to keep her upright, but the medicine is dragging her toward sleep. Inching her toward oblivion.

"I'm going to carry you."

"No, _nonono_ ," she groans, but he's already bending, an arm securing the back of her knees.

"Shut up, Kitty," he admonishes. Gentle. Affectionate.

The shift from being on her feet to being in his arms is dizzying. Kayla thinks she might throw up all over him, but keeps her stomach in order.

"Where are your keys?" Ricardo asks when they get to the elevator.

"Pocket."

"My hands are a bit full. Can you grab them?"

Her fingers are slow, plodding. She rifles through her hoodie and, once again, only finds her phone. That makes her giggle, blind with dizziness. She shoves her face against Ricardo's neck. His pulse is strong and even against her lips. He feels so cold, but he's never cold. She's just burning.

Cooking alive.

Like a… Christ, it's on the tip of her tongue. What is she thinking of? Pesky little thought, hidden.

"Keys?" He repeats when the elevator doors open to the fifth floor. Her floor. Home.

"Don't have them," she admits, trying not to laugh, trying not to cry.

Ricardo is undeterred. "I've broken into more secure buildings than your shitty apartment, so I think we're okay."

He carries her through the hallway. There's a familiar tang of curry in the halls, fragrant and welcoming. It makes Kayla's muscles relax. Home.

 _Isn't it amazing_ , she thinks, _that I found something I can call home?_

"Guess I don't need to do any breaking and entering," Ricardo says, concerned voice layered with amusement. Kayla glances up through slit eyes, the hallway lights too harsh.

Her door is wide open. She must have stumbled out and forgotten to turn around.

Sloppy. So sloppy. Anyone could have come in.

But no one is inside. Ricardo gets her to the bedroom and onto the bed, reaching for the hem of her hoodie. She doesn't fight him on it, too rattled for thought.

And then the tee-shirt comes off.

He doesn't try to remove the undershirt though, and she's very glad for that. She isn't sure if her reflexes could stand up against him right now.

Her mind goes in and out. When she finally gains some level of wherewithal, she's in bed. Alone. In the half-dark.

Ricardo must have helped her into the sheets?

And left her in her undershirt, leggings, and sweatpants. Good man. Didn't ruin everything.

There is a glass of water on her side table. A couple of headache tablets. A quickly jotted note from Ricardo. Her eyes can't focus well enough to read it, so she takes the pills and drinks as much water as she can force down her throat.

* * *

When she wakes up in the morning, it's with a cottony sensation in her mouth, her throat, her very lungs.

Kayla stumbles from the bed, shivering the second she's out from the covers. Her skin is slick and cold under her layers.

She's on her way to the bathroom when a creak from the kitchen scares her half to death. Before she can panic, Ricardo rounds the corner with a wry half-smile. "Nice to see you're alive."

"Christ, what are you doing here?" she demands, hoping she sounds more pissed off than nervous. There's next to nothing in her home, certainly nothing incriminating, nothing that links to her past.

But still. What if she slipped up? Said something in her fever fugue?

“Making sure you didn’t die during the night?” is his response, an eyebrow raised, obviously confused at the glower on her face. “Sorry?”

She crosses her arms, frowning at him. She considers berating him, telling him to get out, but instead she runs a hand over her sweaty brow. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“Kitty,” Ricardo begins with a little grin, still confused but willing to let it go. He’s had to learn how to do that since getting close to her. “You should go take a shower. You look like shit.”

Kayla tries to think of something snarky to say, but she sighs, turns on her heel, and returns to her bedroom. When she comes back with a pile of clothes under one arm, Ricardo adds, “Oh! By the way, you said something earlier…”

Kayla freezes.

“You told me to remind you about lobsters?”

Kayla blinks at him, confused. “I...wait, what?”

“No idea,” he shrugs, still grinning, still looking too at ease in her space. “You just said, _‘remind me about lobsters_ ’ and then you were out for the count.”

Kayla frowns at him, trying to piece things together. Nothing fits - she can only remember bits and pieces from last night, and most of it is hazy, layered with gauze. She shakes it off - lobsters have nothing to do with the Farm or the Special Directive, so she’s okay. It doesn’t matter.

“I’m going to go get breakfast for us,” Ricardo says before she can turn away.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I know. I want to.”

Kayla narrows her eyes at him. Static mind. No idea what his motive is. “Why?”

Ricardo snorts a laugh, shaking his head. “Take your shower. Breakfast will be waiting.”

Kayla lets out a little huff of breath, more for show than anything else, before acquiescing. “Nothing too sweet,” she adds before slipping into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

* * *


	13. Walks | Chen/m!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CJ doesn't want to complicate his life, but he keeps asking to walk Spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, as usual, because I am a sailor's daughter first and foremost.

* * *

**2021**

* * *

CJ doesn't understand why some people take up a hobby as mundane as _walking_. There are worse choices - hunting your former allies as a villain, for example. (Granted, CJ didn’t don Augur’s terrifying suit as a hobby. It’s a job. It leads toward a goal. That goal being a better trained and better-prepared force of heroes throughout Los Diablos.)

But here CJ is, making a hobby out of walking Spoon.

With Chen.

Shit. Steel is becoming _Chen_ in CJ’s mind. CJ can’t have that; he can’t have himself getting this close. Not to Ch-- _Steel_. He is the one person out of all of the Rangers who CJ should avoid. Chen doesn’t have a personal history with CJ that can cloud his judgement, make him blind. Chen isn’t aloof enough to mostly ignore his presence. And Chen certainly doesn’t idolise him.

This is dangerous. This is possibly the most dangerous thing he can do.

But still, this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. This isn’t the first time CJ rolled into headquarters in the middle of the day -unplanned, unannounced- and sought out the marshal. Not the first time that the marshal took personal time out of his workday.

For CJ.

Or maybe it’s for Spoon.

Probably just for Spoon…

“You sounded like you wanted to talk,” Chen murmurs when they pause near a patch of trees that Spoon finds particularly interesting.

“I never want to talk,” CJ lies. Admits? He doesn’t even know anymore.

“You sounded like you did.”

CJ glances over at Chen, eyes narrowing. “Why did you come, anyway?”

Chen doesn’t look surprised, doesn’t seem puzzled. It’s almost like he’s been expecting this question. Expecting CJ to snap, demand to know why - why he cares, why he lets CJ interrupt his day just so the headcase can play with a dog.

“I need excuses to get out of the office.”

It isn’t a lie, CJ can feel that. It isn’t the full truth, either, but CJ doesn’t dare dig too deep. No one knows he’s still a telepath, but if anyone were suspicious he lied about that, it’d be Chen.

The thought brings a wave of nausea with it. _What if he suspects? What if he’s meeting with you to suss you out? Playing the long-game, being careful, meticulous. He doesn’t need to do anything but show up because Spoon makes you soft. Makes you forget that this is one of the people you’re fighting. This man, with his mods and his scars and his smiles --_

_Shit._

CJ starts to move, restlessly wandering off of the path and toward the thicket Spoon is exploring. The dog perks up when he hears CJ, turning around with a bounce, welcoming the scarred hands.

Chen doesn't follow - he's good that way. Never corners a person, always gives them the time to get back up. Gentle in a weird way; careful and methodical. CJ appreciates that enough that he doesn't flee the way he would have in the past. The way he would have a couple of months ago.

Shit. What is he doing?

He gets back onto his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets as he returns to the path. Spoon follows, perky, ever-excited by the world around him.

"He's a good dog," CJ mumbles. He says it often - it's almost like an apology. It's almost like he's acknowledging that he's a paranoid, flighty mess of a man - someone who can't handle anything more than a halfhearted greeting without a spike of panic.

"He is."

CJ bites the inside of his cheek, finally meeting Chen's gaze. "Do you have to head back?"

"Probably should."

But he doesn't move to do so, so CJ pushes his panic to the side and mutters, "I need some coffee."

Chen watches him - CJ tunes his shields so that he can't even hear the background hum of Chen's thoughts. He doesn't want to know why Chen's gaze has softened. Why CJ's vaguely terrified in a very different way than a moment ago.

"I could go for a coffee," Chen says. Collected, easy, no undercurrent of anything.

CJ raises a brow; Chen nods toward the far end of the park. "There's a decent place."

"And it's on the way to doggy daycare," CJ notes.

"So it is."

They start walking, not acknowledging the moment, the fact that this is becoming too complicated.

It feels nice..whatever it is that they do. Besides, if CJ is going to panic about something later on, why not let it be this? At least it feels good at the moment.

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	14. Meetings, pt 3 | f!Mortum/f!Sidestep (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayla and Mortum sit down, face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Strong language, of course.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is Part III of an on-going storyline. There might even be a Part IV coming up because I love these two together. For your convenience, you can find links to the other parts below.
> 
> [Part I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151706/chapters/67906156)
> 
> [Part II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151706/chapters/67906438#workskin)   
> 

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"...Kayla Hemmings."

Kayla keeps her smile amiable, refusing to allow her anxiousness to leak through. Mortum hasn't invited her to sit, but she does anyway - no use drawing attention by lingering. "You sound disappointed."

Dr Mortum doesn't react, dark eyes briefly flitting toward the purse that Kayla sets in the corner of the booth. But then they're wholly focused on Kayla. "Not disappointed," Mortum finally murmurs. "You were on my list of possibilities, but given your relationship with Charge…"

"Friends don't have to agree on everything," Kayla shrugs a little, leaning back into the cracked leather seat. She notices a waiter wandering past, snagging his attention with a brief thought.

"You ladies doing alright? Can I get you anything?" he asks.

"Two waters, a bottle of nice whiskey, and two glasses. Thanks," she adds with her best smile, already adjusting his memories of her and Mortum. Just two pleasant people sharing a drink, nothing worth his attention.

Mortum doesn't watch the waiter - she watches Kayla. Kayla doesn't understand what is going on behind Mortum's dimmed glasses - Eden has seen her puzzle through complex thoughts, tangling herself in webs. It's different seeing this as Kayla. So different. 

Christ, why did she think this was a good idea?

Their drinks come before either of them speak. Kayla thanks the waiter before pushing his attention away, making him -and everyone else- ignore their booth. 

“I assume that you are running interference for us,” the good doctor asks without asking. 

“Of course - no one is paying attention.” Silence follows her assurance, Mortum choosing to contemplate, stare unflinchingly. It’s unsettling. Kayla hums a soft, awkward note under her breath -an old habit she can’t seem to shake- and Mortum's eyebrow twitches upward. Recognition.

"How long have you and Eden known one another?" Mortum ventures, tone giving away nothing. 

"...About two years?" It comes out as more of a question than anything else. "Maybe three...I'm not sure,” she lies. When Mortum doesn't react, she adds, "Why?"

Mortum shrugs and dims her glasses further. She's wincing, trying to cover it. Headache. "Did you bring the project?" 

"You should drink some water," Kayla suggests as she pours liquor into one of the tumblers. "If you're taking Numbers, you need to lay off the alcohol."

Mortum doesn't look surprised. "You can keep your concern and tell me why we’re here.”

It’s unsettling - sitting in stilted animosity with a woman who has treated her like a friend for over a year. Who flirted with her shamelessly at the beginning of their collaborations. But all of that was in a different body - a younger, prettier, bolder one. Even while trying to mimic pieces of her other identities (Eden’s easy charm, Glitch’s easy confidence), she feels wrong.

Why is this so hard? Why does Kayla want Mortum to look at her like she looks at Eden? Why does she care? Didn’t this all start as a means to an end? A way to have a self-proclaimed mad scientist in her corner? To have someone who works on her projects and keeps it quiet?

Projects. Yes. Keep it professional.

Kayla clears her throat, finishes her whiskey, and pours a second. She hesitates, raising a brow at Mortum. The woman gives a slight nod of her head, and Kayla pours more liquor into the second glass, sliding it across the table. 

And then Kayla reaches for her bag - slowly, making it clear that she isn’t going to start something. Withdrawing a manila folder from the purse, she passes it to Mortum. “Just a piece of the puzzle first - to see if it’s even feasible.”

Kayla can’t see Mortum’s gaze, can’t read her blank expression. But she can see that Mortum’s fingers are a little unsteady when she reaches for the folder. Whether it’s from nerves, some side-effect from the Numbers, or excitement, Kayla has no idea. The good doctor begins reading, her tense shoulders relaxing. 

Kayla takes these moments to watch her - to study her face in a way she never did while she was Eden. There was no reason to then - but, irritatingly enough, that changed.

Kayla can’t help wondering if this is a side-effect from Heartbreak. If the crazed woman made her into this, into a love-starved kitten whose eyes go heart-shaped anytime someone new comes into her life. 

_who wants companionship but can’t accept that people actually care for her, actually love her_

Kayla pushes all of that into the back of her mind. She can’t think about that right now - not here. Not in the present company. Dr Mortum is dangerous, and Dr Mortum would undoubtedly notice if she started slipping too far into her own mind. Might discover something. Can’t risk it.

But Mortum is too busy reading, wholly immersed. Kayla sips her whiskey, turning her attention away for a moment. She melds herself into the conversations around them, using the other minds to soothe her own. Leans into the tipsy couple near the bar, in love and having a good time even after ten years of marriage. 

Damn. Kayla can’t help a small, impressed smile. 

She moves on, further down the bar. There’s a business discussion going on in a booth across the way: three men, one woman. One of the men assumes the woman wants to get in his pants (she doesn’t - finds him disgusting, in actuality). The second man is actually paying attention to the discussion, making a mental list of tasks for when he goes back to the office. The third isn’t drinking - in recovery, not that anyone else knows. His husband gave him an ultimatum after the DUI, and he would rather go through pain and AA meetings than lose Darien.

Kayla pulls herself away, pulls herself back. Her breath comes easier now, her mind softened, smoothed out by the surprising specks of love in the bar. 

The doctor lets out a soft chuckle, drawing Kayla’s attention. Mortum’s eyes are still glued to the documents, but her attention has shifted to include Kayla. “This is...unexpected.”

She says that word a lot - unexpected. Kayla assumes it’s one of the safest words the woman could use. Something that can mean many things depending on the situation. “Could it work?”

“Perhaps.” Another safe choice. “In theory, yes. I’ll need time to go over this - and I’ll need all of the pages.” She lifts her gaze; the glasses aren’t as dark now, giving Kayla a view of the eyes below. “I assume you’ve kept some pieces back, given these gaps.”

Kayla’s lips quirk upward. “Yes. And…”

“I do not enjoy waiting, Mme Hemmings.”

“I have a prototype.”

“ _Sérieusement_?”

Kayla can’t help a little smile at that. “Yes. And it’s all yours to tinker with...if you’re interested?”

Dr Mortum doesn’t narrow her eyes this time. There’s a bit of that mania there, the look she gets when she’s latched onto something and it won’t let her go. “I am. I assume you didn’t bring it with you.”

“You assume correctly.”

“And you don’t trust Eden enough to deliver it to me.”

“I trust Eden with everything - I just wanted to sit down with you beforehand.”

“Eden implied otherwise.”

Kayla chuckles, running a hand through her short hair, brushing it away from her forehead. “Eden has a gift for exaggeration.”

Dr Mortum actually cracks a smile at that. “And I assume the only reason that we’re meeting now is so you can remind me that you got my gun? Cash in a favour?” 

“I got your gun because I wanted to. I’m asking you to do this for me because you’re brilliant and I _need_ the Regenerator.” She makes sure to let her genuine feelings slip through. “This project isn't about eccentric curiosity - it's about necessity.”

Dr Mortum mulls it over for a moment, eyes scanning Kayla’s face. They linger on the scars across her nose, the mass of damage on her left cheek, the trauma peeking out of her high collar. Kayla lets her study them without reacting, sipping her whiskey, waiting.

“If you'd allow my curiosity," she begins, leaning forward just a bit. "You stole not one but two items from Hollow Ground's auction. While I trust you know what you're doing...” she trails off a little, making it evident that she isn't as sure as she claims. "Your scars are hardly worth the risk you took."

Mortum’s just being kind because the scars _are_ bad enough to be worth it. The world reminds Kayla of that fact anytime someone notices her, looking through the _ignore-me_ vibes she puts out. 

Kayla smiles a little, swirling her drink in her hand, watching the depths. She stops when she realises that this is an Eden mannerism, not one that's natural to Kayla. “You aren’t seeing the whole picture, Doctor."

Mortum taps a fingernail on the table, thinking. “I will do this for you because I am intrigued.” By the project or Kayla, she doesn’t say. 

(Probably because it’s obviously the prototype, and Kayla is just being thirsty. The flirty mood from the couple at the bar is infectious.) 

“But it will be complex. I won’t do it for free.”

“I already told you that you don’t owe me a favour, so name the price.”

Mortum stays quiet for a while; Her gaze is softer now - less suspicious. There’s still something bothering the doctor, though, and Kayla again wishes that she didn’t have those Numbers. How did she even get them? That’s a bit alarming, but Kayla won’t think about that right now. Mortum has connections - she might have come by them honestly enough. It doesn’t mean the woman has helped _them_.

Mortum finally reaches for her untouched tumbler, taking a sip. “Give me a few days; I’ll let Eden know when I have a figure?” It comes out as a question, silently probing. Testing, seeing how freely Kayla plans on meeting in the future.

Kayla wants to answer the question one way but settles on the smarter course of action. “Yes. Eden can handle things from here.”

“Well then,” Dr Mortum begins (is that a sense of relief Kayla hears?), “I suppose we have nothing left to discuss.”

Kayla smirks a little, trying not to let that smart. “I suppose not.” She lifts her glass in a proposed toast - Mortum follows suit, much less on-edge than she was at the beginning of this tête-à-tête. “To fruitful collaborations.”

“To fruitful collaborations,” Mortum repeats, clinking their drinks together. She might even have a slight smile when she returns the folder to Kayla. “I expected something different,” she admits. “You’re less infuriating outside of the suit.”

“Aren’t all villains?”

“True,” Mortum almost chuckles, catches herself, settles with a smile. She slides out of the booth, but she hesitates. Kayla raises a brow at her - it turns into a chuckle when the good doctor sips from one of the water glasses. An unspoken concession, perhaps. An acknowledgement that they're good, maybe.

Or she was just thirsty. Probably that. Christ, Kayla needs to chill the fuck out.

“Until next time, Mme Hemmings.”

“Next time,” Kayla repeats. Mortum departs - Kayla doesn’t watch. She pours herself another drink, fingers steady. The only thing that might give her away is the lingering smile. It went better than she expected. Amiable toward the end, even.

 _You’re not Eden,_ the smart part of her tells the stupid part. _Not in the way it matters. Let it go. Don’t think about how her smile was genuine for a split second - that it gave you, idiot that you are, ideas._

That part of her is right, of course, but Kayla gives herself a few seconds to live in her little daydream. She finishes her drink, drops some cash on the table, and leaves. She has a few days before Mortum reaches out again - a few days to get over this stupid crush.

Easy.

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End file.
